Showcasing the first chapter of WHITE OUT, a steamy romantic suspense novel from Amber Lea Easton. Sneak peek of the Mile High Muses' BREATHLESS Box Set...coming soon.
Amber Lea Easton
The snow itself is lonely or, if you prefer, self-sufficient. There is no other time when the whole world seems composed of one thing and one thing only." Joseph Wood Krutch
The nightmares always began with tripping off a stage and ended with her screaming for mercy. Twisted in sheets, Brandi sat straight up in bed and blinked at the log wall. Orange light flickered across the hardwood floor from the gas fireplace. Her German Shepherd, Moose, stared at her from a fluffy dog bed nestled in the corner of the room, ears straight up and alert. Wind stirred the pines, the lonely sound whispering through the empty house. Moonlight sprinkled an ethereal glow onto fresh snow on the wide meadow outside the window.
No threat here. No murderers. No death.
Annoyed that the Ambien hadn't done its job of sending her into dreamless oblivion, she pulled the sheets from her legs and stepped onto the cold floor. Grateful for the furry bunny slippers tucked out of Moose's reach, she shoved her feet inside them and walked toward the kitchen.
The log cabin had been a fantasy of hers since childhood, even though she'd grown up in a small apartment in New York City. She and her sisters would sit on their roof and share their big dreams of adulthood. They would dance and laugh and sing and laugh some more while the city moved beneath them with its frantic energy.
They'd had big dreams, she and her sisters. Each had craved the spotlight, forcing their parents into endless hours of impromptu performances with blanket backdrops, feather boas, and flashlights as special effects. But of the three, the Brandi had found fame at sixteen and turned her dream of being a musician into a reality.
And the dream had become a nightmare.
As coffee brewed, she stared at the snow-covered meadow and lifted her chin higher. How far did she need to run to escape the past? She'd allowed her hair to return to its natural platinum blonde, bought a dog kennel on a mountaintop outside of Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and suppressed her outgoing nature to blend into the background. Exile, she'd called it when she'd left that last day, which is exactly what this was no matter how the US Marshalls had framed it with catch phrases like 'starting over' and 'clean slate.'
From her vantage point, she could see the lights of the neighbor's home pierce the darkness. Ryan Landry always woke before dawn. Even though a half a mile of forest separated their two houses, she could see the glow of his window perfectly from her kitchen.
The man annoyed her to no end. The definition of skiing cowboy, he ran a tour guide operation where he'd take tourists along the continental divide by horse for a day's adventure. A former Olympian, he also led the holiday festivities at the resort and would ski down all lit up like some type of circus act. Happy, laid back, a local charmer, he irritated her every time he tipped his damn hat in her direction.
Turning her back on the distant glow that indicated human life stirred in the darkness, she filled her mug with a slice of heaven before walking toward the kennels. She'd designed a walkway connecting her kitchen to the boarding area. Because she liked her privacy and didn't want a lot of employees, she limited her boarders to six at a time.
A click of a door in front of her halted her steps. A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill coming through the windows crept over her skin.
Slowly, so she didn't make a sound, she set the mug onto the floor, stepped out of the slippers, ducked lower than the windows in case anyone watched from outside, and shuffled toward the kennel. Dogs stretched and greeted her with yips from their individual suits when she flicked on the lights. Careful to remain hidden in the shadows, she checked the door leading to the backyard where she allowed the boarded animals to run in a play area she'd created.
She pressed her forehead against the cool wood and released the breath she'd been holding. She flicked on the outdoor lights and looked out the window. No footprints marred the snowpack.
"It's just me and the beasts," she whispered. "I need to stop freaking myself out."
A cocker spaniel whined, eyes trained on her.
Smiling at the yipping bunch, she walked into each suite and opened the back doors so each dog could run in the snow and do their morning business. When Moose stood on her hind legs and stared at her from where she'd been left in the breezeway, Brandi opened up the main door to the play area and let her dog mingle with the guests.
She poured food into separate bowls and cleaned each suite before pausing to watch them leaping through the snow. The tension that had bound her shoulders evaporated on a sigh. Dawn lightened the sky above the towering pine trees whose crowns swayed slightly in the chilly wind.
A flash from the corner of her eye sent shivers of apprehension sliding over her spine, but she refused to surrender to fear again. With seven dogs gleefully playing in fresh snow, at least one of them would bark if someone lurked behind a tree. At least she hoped they would. Rolling her shoulders back, she refused to look.
"Okay, guys, enough for now." She whistled and called each dog into their suites for their breakfast. Later, when the sun sat high in the sky, she'd let them back out to play, but for now they needed to stay warm and safe while their families traveled to far away places.
Moose trotted close at her heels in what could only be described as a strut as if knowing she were the special one.
Wrapping her robe tighter around her narrow frame, Brandi picked up her now cold coffee and walked back to her house through the breezeway. From the corner of her eye, she swore she saw a movement beyond the reach of the outdoor security lights. Picking up the pace, she returned to the safety of her kitchen and locked the door behind her before setting the alarm.
A person couldn't be too careful, especially someone who couldn't risk being found. Her voice training had erased any trace of a New York City accent years ago. As far as everyone in Steamboat Springs knew, she'd grown up in California and had inherited money to buy her dream house and run a kennel in the middle of the woods.
She poured her cold coffee out in the sink and let her gaze drift toward Ryan's house. There were moments when she wished she had a confidante, just one person who could be trusted completely, someone who could call her by her real name and hear the stories of the fame she'd abandoned in the name of justice and survival.
"What's with me today?" She pushed away from the sink and walked into the huge living room where a large undecorated Christmas tree dominated the space.
Without thinking of the 'why', she turned on every light in the house before sitting cross-legged in the center of her sofa. Moose growled, a ridge of wavy fur standing upright on her back as she leapt to her feet and snarled at the front door.
"Shh...it's just the wind," she whispered as she scratched between Moose's ears. "We need to stop freaking ourselves out...and I need to stop talking to dogs so much."
Moose looked at her with understanding eyes and leaned heavily against her side.
Brandi stared at the empty branches of the Christmas tree and made a silent wish for a glimmer of happiness and peace. She hugged her arms around herself and willed the fear to go away. She'd suffered enough, had followed all the rules, and wanted a semblance of a normal life. Anger slowly pushed the fear aside until resolve grew from deep within her chest.
When Moose growled again and took a step toward the entrance, she gritted her teeth and pushed herself away from the sofa. She'd once been a called a force to be reckoned with and that fighting spirit roared to life in an instant. She'd played by the rules too long. Time for a change of pace.
* * *
Ryan looked at the beacon across the woods and shook his head in dismay. Why on earth had that crazy dog lady turned on every single light in her house? Ever since she'd moved in across the way, she consistently surprised him with another odd act. Almost daily, another weird thing would come from her side of the trees. Today—a goddamn lighthouse.
From the few times she'd actually spoken to him rather than yelled at him for letting tourists too close to her fence, he knew she claimed to be from California, but he called bullshit on that. She had too much edge and sucked at lying. If he had to guess, which he didn't because that would mean he thought about his reclusive neighbor more than he did, he pictured her in a big city somewhere surrounded by steel and concrete rather than palm trees and sand. Not that he cared. If she wanted to hide out in the woods and spend all of her time with animals, who was he to judge?
A rancher, he preferred the company of horses to most people so he could relate to her in that way. But, damn, he'd fantasized about her despite her attitude. That platinum hair coupled with large brown eyes a man could lose himself in haunted his dreams. And when she spoke, her voice had a husky lyrical quality to it that made him lose track of his common sense. He did not hook up with crazy dog ladies no matter how drop dead gorgeous they were.
Okay, well, maybe he would. Just once. For curiosity sake alone. Maybe seducing the sexy neighbor with the attitude problem would be his New Year's resolution.
He smiled at the idea, wondering what she looked like beneath the ugly baggy clothes she wore.
He drank his coffee, gave the distant beacon one last glance, and returned his attention to the laptop resting on a granite counter. He had a group arriving from the resort for a trail ride at eight, which meant he needed to get it in gear.
Ryan went about his business of preparing for the day, but his gaze kept drifting toward the windows facing toward the neighbor's. Curiosity nagged at him to know what made such a beautiful woman so reclusive. Ever since his divorce, he preferred uncomplicated women—tourists mainly—who didn't want more than a good time and he had a strong feeling that Ms. Crazy Dog Lady wouldn't even know what that meant.
He pulled the sheepskin coat over his arms and grabbed his cowboy hat from where it had been tossed onto the side table. He jumped at the abrupt knock on his door.
Frowning at the time, which had barely slipped past dawn, he opened it without concealing his annoyance.
"I knew it was you." Crazy Dog Lady herself stood on the steps, a machete of all things in one hand and a flashlight in the other, dressed in pajama pants, a long black wool sweater, and mittens.
"I live here. Who else would you be expecting?" He smiled at the fierce expression on her flushed face.
Man, he could lose himself in those big brown eyes of hers. He propped his hand on the doorframe and grinned at the ferocity emanating from her.
"I followed the tracks." She motioned with the machete toward her house. "I've had enough of this bullshit. I don't like being stalked and you can be damn sure I'll get a restraining order on you before the day is finished."
"Whoa." He held up his hands in mock surrender and stepped back. "I am not stalking anyone. Get in here. You look like you're freezing."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at him. Platinum hair trailed wildly around her shoulders, almost matching the snowflakes sticking to the bottoms of her pajamas that bunched up over the top of her snow boots. "You might think I'm some foolish woman who doesn't know how to take care of herself, but I guarantee you I can. The next time you want to spy on me, I'll set Moose loose on you."
Ah, yes, her German Shepherd that often frequented his house for treats and a good belly rub. He grinned at the threat. "I am not in the habit of skulking through the woods in the dark to stare at women through their windows. If you think—"
"The snow is fresh and there are tracks." She motioned again with the machete.
"Where'd you get that thing?" He couldn't stop smiling at the picture she made, a contradiction of soft and beautiful meshing with hard and fierce.
"It's none of your business where I got this thing," she held it up in the air, "just know that I'm fully capable of using it."
"Message received, ma'am." Because she refused to enter, he exited. He looked in the direction she pointed, unable to believe someone had been out here stalking through the woods to spy on anyone. "Aside from Moose, isn't your kennel full for the holidays? Did the dogs react to this trespasser?"
"He tried to open the door—I mean you—someone—there are tracks and I—" She shrugged as if defeated and, for the first time, he noticed the fear in her eyes. "I know what I saw, I know someone watched from the woods. I can feel it. If it's not you—despite you being dressed to go wandering through the snow—then the tracks lead to your property so maybe you should take me seriously."
He buttoned up his jacket and nodded. "Okay, I believe you. Let's go for a look together then. Next time call me before heading out after a would-be stalker. A machete and a flashlight? Pajama pants?"
"I was mad and frustrated so I just went." She sighed and looked down at her outfit. "Snow and cold don't bother me."
"Strange for a transplant from California." He looked her in the eye and smiled at the suspicion darkening her eyes to a deep chocolate. "Let's go look for stalkers. My morning just got more exciting."
"It's not funny." She looked away toward the shadows that lingered despite the graying of the sky.
He sobered at the realization that whatever had caused her to come here and lock herself away must have been pretty damn bad. "I know it's not. Next time call me."
"I don't have your number," she said as she stepped off his front steps and looked toward the stables and the driveway beyond. "Look! Is that someone backing up without lights on?"
He squinted through the pre-dawn shadows and walked around her. The sky had lightened enough for him to definitely make out a truck leaving his driveway. "I'm going to call the sheriff."
"We should follow them." She grabbed his arm and looked at him with determination. "Do you have your keys? Your jeep is right there. Let's go before he gets away."
"And then what? Are you going to chop him into pieces? With all the forks in the road, he'll be gone before we reach the highway." He reached for the handle of the machete and shook his head 'no.' "I have security cameras all around the stables and the back of the house. "We'll call the sheriff, get you warmed up, and see what the cameras caught."
She hesitated, looking between his house and the end of his driveway. "I suppose you're right, but—"
"Come inside, Brandi." He dropped his hand to her lower back and gently guided her toward his front door.
Surprisingly, she agreed, but she did not release her hold on the machete.
He smiled at her back as she stomped the snow from her boots before bending to take them off. Tucking the machete under arm, she adjusted her mismatched socks and brushed chunks of matted snow from the hem of her pajama bottoms.
He tossed his hat back onto the table and hung up his coat while making a mental note to call Jamie, his hired man who lived in an apartment above the stables, to check in on the horses. "My office is straight down the hall, computer password is Buckeye—"
"Why are you telling me your password?" She looked over her shoulder from where she still crouched rolling up the wet part of her pants to her knees so they wouldn't drip on his hardwood floors.
He took a minute to simply observe her up close and personal. Long, platinum hair dangled over her neck and stuck to the wool of her sweater as she observed him through a wall of caution.
"Security cameras. You'll need my password to unlock the computer." He cleared his throat. "Just click on the camera icon and they'll come up. I record everything on a 24 hour loop."
"Buckeye?" She grinned, the smile transforming her from beautiful to heartbreakingly stunning. She stood and raked her gaze over him from his boots to his messy hair. "Are you from Ohio?"
"No." He laughed, suddenly forgetting what he'd been about to do. "It is the name of the very first horse I had as a boy. My grandpa gave him to me when I was four."
"Cute." Grin turned into a full-fledged smile. "So you're a real cowboy then. I wondered."
"Why on earth would you have a doubt?" He leaned his hip against the wall, gaze locked on her smile. She needed to do that more often.
"Why wouldn't I? People are rarely what they seem to be." She countered before walking down the hall toward the office.
He frowned at the illicit thoughts popping into his brain as he watched her ass sway back and forth beneath the thin fabric of the pajama pants as she shuffled away. One foot wore a purple sock and the other neon green. Shapely calves had been exposed from where she'd rolled her pants to her knees. When she paused at the office door to look back at him, a wave of guilt for watching her washed through him. Here she feared being stalked and he sat gawking at her every move.
"Don't call the sheriff," she said, her gaze connecting with his. "Not yet."
"What would you rather do? Find the assholes yourself and chop them into bits?"
"Yes, actually, I would."
His smile faded when she stared back without a glimmer of humor.
"I need to call my hired hand, get him to check on the stables. I'll be there in a minute," he said.
He turned his back on her as he grabbed his phone from his back pocket. He needed to call Jamie first and then the sheriff, despite her request.
"Jamie," he said when his friend answered, "we've had some trespassers on the property, can you check on the horses? I'll be down in a few minutes. I'm going to—"
"What's happening?" Jamie answered, voice slurred from sleep. "Trespassers?"
"Obviously you haven't had your coffee yet. Yeah, I'm still figuring it all out." He looked down the hallway toward his office and whispered, "Brandi Simms is here, she followed tracks from her property to mine and we saw a truck leaving the driveway."
"Crazy Dog Lady's in your house?" Jamie suddenly sounded interested. "Okay, okay, I'm awake. I'll check on the horses right away."
The phone clicked off and he hesitated about calling the sheriff. The look in her eyes gave him cause for concern—for his safety and the fate of those men if she caught up to them—but he couldn't shake that look of fear behind the murderous intentions. Deciding to wait, he slipped the phone into the back pocket of his jeans and walked toward the office.
"There's something here!" she shouted before he reached the doorway. "There are two of them. Your cameras got them!"
Dread clenched at his gut. Trespassers on his property pissed him off, but the fact that someone may have used his place to spy on her pushed his buttons.
Brandi sat behind his desk, eyes wide as she inched within an inch of the screen looking at the evidence of her being watched. "It's very grainy, though. There's no way to make out a face."
"Would you recognize someone? Has this happened to you before?" Hand on the back of the chair, he leaned over her shoulder.
The picture clearly showed two men, one who had stayed back toward the edge of the stables and another who had walked directly past his front porch in the darkness beyond the scope of the motion lights. But the night vision cameras only showed that they were men wearing parkas and stocking caps, nothing identifiable.
"I have security cameras, too, but they only focus on the kennels and entrances, not the property itself," she muttered more to herself than him. "This guy knew to park here and walk to where he couldn't be identified. He's done this before, watched me. He seems to know where the property line is because he didn't cross it. See?"
"How do you know that?"
"Tracks in the snow." She shrugged.
A chill went through him at the matter-of-fact way she spoke about it. She'd come here ready to slice him in two for spying on her and now, when confronted with proof that she'd been right about being stalked, talked more analytically than emotionally about it. He bit back the questions and instead reached around her to scroll through the other window from the camera directed at the dark shape of the truck. Nothing could be identified from that either.
"The police won't do anything, no need to let them in on this, unless of course something happened to your horses, but leave me out of it then," she said without emotion. Leaning back in the chair, arms folded across her chest, she stared the screen with her customary closed expression locking out the world. "I'd better get back to the dogs. I fed them, but they'll be wanting to run and I need to scoop out their play area."
He squeezed her shoulder and kept her in place. "Brandi, you need to tell me if you know who those two are. Have you been threatened? You seem almost..."
"Almost what?" She wouldn't meet his gaze. "Resigned to the fact that the police won't do anything until someone is murdered or severely harmed? That's what they will say. I'll bet you a hundred dollars. The sheriff will show up, look at this, come to the same conclusion we have about not being able to identify anyone, will take down our statement and tell us there is nothing he can do. That's how the system works, babe." She stood and faced him, gaze moving over his long-sleeved t-shirt and up his neck as if seeing him clearly for the first time. She looked him in the eye. "You'd better go check on your horses, cowboy."
"I've got them handled." He couldn't break eye contact. "I won't let you leave yet. You can't simply show up here with machete in hand and then leave without having a cup of coffee. It would be anticlimactic."
She caught her lower lip between her teeth as if debating his proposition. "I should get back—"
"A cup of coffee won't hurt, will it? The sky's getting lighter by the second. This way you can warm up and walk back once the sun is up. Or I can drive you?"
She broke eye contact and shoved her hands through her hair. "I shouldn't have stormed off like that, I guess. I'd just had enough, you know?"
He frowned at that but didn't say anything. 'Enough' implied that she'd been dealing with harassment for a long time. Just like he handled a skittish horse, he backed off and changed his approach.
"Yeah, I understand. We all get to a breaking point where we need to stand our ground." He motioned toward the door. "My hired hand, Jamie, is looking in on the horses. He and his wife live in the apartment above the stables."
"Really? I didn't know..." She smiled weakly at him and shrugged. "How would I know, right? I'm not exactly Ms. Sociable."
He narrowed his gaze, trying to gauge her emotions before motioning toward the hallway. "Let's have that cup of coffee. You can be sociable now."
"At six in the morning?" She grinned and walked ahead of him. "I need to get back. I've already intruded enough."
"We should call the sheriff, Brandi. If someone is—"
"No." She spun around and jabbed a finger into the center of his chest. "It will cause more trouble than you know. The fact that I know I'm not imagining things is good enough. I can take precautions."
"Precautions that involve machetes?" He knew the situation warranted a more sober expression, but he couldn't help but smile. God, he wanted to kiss her hard and wrap that long hair around his fists.
"You don't understand."
"No, I don't so enlighten me."
"I can't." She turned and speed-walked toward her discarded boots.
"Why not? I'm involved in one way or another. These guys used my property to gain access to you. If you know something about who they might be, I think I have a right to know."
"A right to know?" She snorted and shook her head.
Hands on his hips, he watched her shove her multi-colored feet inside her boots and fought the urge to smack a wall. "You're the most exasperating woman I've met since my ex-wife."
"Best that we keep our distance from one another then, right?" She grabbed the machete and faced him with another shrug.
"Who are these men? Why aren't you more scared than you are? You're acting like you expected this to happen."
"It was only a matter of time," she muttered before reaching for the door. "So close to the finish line, too...they must have paid someone off."
"Who?" He grabbed her arm and stopped her from leaving. "I'm not a bad guy, Brandi. Let me help you. Whatever you tell me won't go further than this room."
"I didn't mean to say any of that out loud...too much time spent talking to animals has made me lose my edge. Forget you heard that." She yanked her arm free of his grasp. "I don't know what theory you or anyone else in this town has about me, but let's get one thing straight...I can take care of myself."
"I know you're not from California. I know you're lying about everything, it's in your eyes." When she stepped back and squinted, he knew he'd struck a chord. "You suck at lying and, I have to admit, that's an intriguing quality in a woman and not one I've experienced in a long time."
"Your ex must be relieved to be free of your egomania."
"Maybe she is, I don't know or care about her feelings anymore. She's living in Bermuda with a rich tourist she met."
"I didn't ask for your life story."
"But I'm giving it to you because I have nothing to hide."
"And I do so you're trying to goad me into revealing my secrets?" She blinked at him a second before bursting out in laughter. "Oh, honey, I'm so far out of you league that we're in different orbits." She closed the gap between them, pressed the tip of the machete against his shoulder, stood on her tiptoes, looked him in the eye, and said, "You have no idea who you're dealing with here. I'm more than you could handle. And those men? They're killers. And if you quote me on that to the sheriff or anyone else, I'll deny I said it."
Damn if her words didn't turn him on.
He grabbed her wrists and squeezed until she dropped the weapon. "Never underestimate me, Brandi."
"And vice versa." She wiggled free of his hold, but not before a ghost of a smile had crept onto her face again. "I guess I overreacted. I sometimes let emotion sweep me away."
He enjoyed seeing her swept away by emotion. This version of her beat the hell out of the reclusive woman who hid behind her dogs and sunglasses every day. He smiled at the realization that maybe he liked women who danced on the edge of crazy. It made life much more interesting.
"Let me drive you back to your place."
"I walked here, I can walk back." She smiled, though, when she looked at him. "You can't help it, can you?"
She shook her head before looking away. "I'd better go. I don't like my house empty if nosy people are out and about."
He hadn't thought about the fact that the men could have returned to her house while it sat vacant. "That's even more reason why I should drive you back. What if you're walking into something dangerous?"
"Okay, fine, you can drive me." She sighed as if agreeing to sacrifice her first born.
He laughed at her reluctance while shrugging into his coat. "You are a very difficult person to know, do you realize that?"
She faced him, boots on, machete and flashlight in her hands, and frowned. "I do know that. It's how life needs to be, Ryan. I'd appreciate your number, though, if you don't mind. In case...you know...it happens again."
"I thought maybe you were going to ask me out."
She tilted her head to the side and looked at him as if he were the one acting insane. "I've held a machete to you twice, admitted that those guys are deadly, and you're...what?...flirting with me?"
"Maybe I'm the kind of guy who leaps at an opportunity when he sees it without regard to timing."
"Or maybe you're in need of some serious counseling."
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and studied the caution on her face. "I can be a good friend, Brandi. Not all men are bastards."
She raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised by his statement. "I know that. My dad was one of the good guys, too. I like my privacy, that's all."
"You're a horrible liar." He shoved his hat on with more force than usual, suddenly frustrated. He'd never had such a hard time getting through to a woman before in his life.
"I'm not lying. My dad is—"
"Not about that, about everything else." He held the door open for her and looked over her head when she passed. He wouldn't look at her again, not in the eye anyway. If she wanted to play it cold and aloof, then fine. He could live with that. He'd be her friendly neighbor who would help hunt stalkers on a whim and nothing else. Fine.
"You know something? I don't like the good guy, chivalrous act, okay?" She poked him in the chest with the flashlight. "I don't buy it. You might be the most charming man in Steamboat Springs with your sexy as sin smile, good manners, and cowboy hat, but I don't want to be your latest conquest, do you hear me? I'm not one of your local admirers or a wide-eyed tourist ready to go down on you for the sake of story to tell with my friends over cocktails."
"What friends? You never leave your damn house. Stop poking me with things." He swiped the flashlight away from his chest and stomped toward his jeep.
"Oh, I have friends. Delores—"
"She owns the feed store, doesn't count. She has to be nice to you because it's business."
"She sells ads for the local paper and—"
"Fuck you, Ryan Landry." She opened the door to his jeep and climbed in with so much flair he had to smile.
"I thought the proposition was going down on me, but if—"
"I have higher standards."
To hell with the consequences, he couldn't help himself. He leaned across the space separating them, grabbed the back of her head and crushed his mouth against hers determined to erase that I'm-Better-Than-You-Attitude from her.
She smacked him with a closed fist until he pulled back.
"I don't know what you're problem is, but I'm not it," he said without letting her go.
"I have the potential of being your biggest nightmare come true," she said before twisting away and jumping from the car. Without looking back, she headed toward the path she'd made in the snow and stomped toward her house.
He leaned back in the driver's seat, hit the steering wheel with both hands, and kept his gaze on her back until she crossed onto her own property.
Brandishing machetes? Killers? Out of his league? The woman had to be certifiably insane.
He leaned against the steering wheel, a slow smile creeping across his mouth that vibrated from the sizzle that had snapped between them with the briefest physical contact. Even though she hadn't kissed him back, the feel of her mouth beneath his had sent currents of electrical volts ripping through his body.
He stepped from the jeep, tossed the keys in the air, and caught them in one hand without taking his eyes off of that platinum hair swaying down her back as she weaved through the trees over snow and through shadows. She'd called him sexy...so she couldn't be too far off the center of sanity.
Life had just gotten a helluva lot more exciting.
* * *
WHITE OUT...coming soon as one of the novels in the Mile High Muses' box set, Breathless. Be prepared to elevate your sensual expectations.
Get a glimpse of all four novels by taking a peek at the book trailer!