Page 10 of Snowed in with the Bodyguard

Holly winds her arms around my neck and fists my hair, giving as much as I take. Fuck, she’s so responsive, as if she can’t get enough of me. I know damn well I’ll never get enough of her.

But not now. Safety first.

The warning voice in my head has me pulling back, resting my forehead against hers. “We need to go. I need to get us somewhere safe.”

“You make me feel safe,” she whispers, her lips swollen from our kiss as she lifts her head. “Not just from everything out there. But from everything I’ve carried in here.” She touches her chest briefly, her eyes never leaving mine.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I do the only thing I can—I clear my throat and lower my gaze to the GPS so I don’t pull her into my arms again and ravish that plump little mouth. “We should get moving. The cabin isn’t far, and we’ll rest easier once we’re there.”

She nods, her eyes wide with both fear and determination. Despite the terror we’re facing, I see the fire of resilience in her gaze, a strength that has only surfaced now in the depths of the danger around us.

I peer out of the cave’s narrow entrance, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The silence is almost eerie, broken only by the distant howl of an animal—a wolf, perhaps. I feel a flicker of hope. If wolves are nearby, there might be people somewhere close.

As we step back into the icy wilderness, her hand finds mine once more, her grip steady, warm, and unwavering.

The cabin is still a fair distance away, but the path looks manageable if we can avoid running into trouble. We move quietly down the mountainside. The moonlight illuminates the snow-covered landscape, casting an otherworldly glow over everything. Each step is a battle against the elements; the cold bites through our coats, seeping into our bones. But I push on, knowing that every step puts more distance between us and the men hunting us.

The trees close around us, their long shadows stretching like fingers in the moonlight. Danger looms, tightening around us like a shroud. I glance back every few minutes, half-expecting to see our pursuers closing in, but all is silent.

Holly’s boot catches on a hidden root beneath the snow. She lets out a quiet gasp, determination etched across her face.

I steady her, my hand firm on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” I ask, concern lacing my voice.

“Yeah,” she says, though I see her grimace. “We can’t stop,” she whispers, her voice determined. “We have to keep moving.”

A surge of admiration rises in me. She’s a fighter.

The night stretches on as we descend the mountain, the snow crunching under our boots, our breaths visible in the freezing air. Every sound seems amplified—the snap of a branch, the rustle of leaves—making my heart pound with each step. Holly’s hand trembles in mine, but her silent strength bolsters my resolve.

Finally, after what feels like hours of navigating the icy terrain, we reach a clearing near the base of the mountain.

“There,” I say, pointing to a cabin barely visible in the moonlight, its dark shape huddled in the snow. It blends into its surroundings, surrounded by trees and built to match the environment.

“Thank God,” Holly murmurs, her teeth chattering as the cold takes its toll on her.

Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I guide her forward. We’ve found shelter, but now the challenge is staying hidden. If we can avoid being found, if we can stay out of sight, we might make it through the night.

Chapter 5

Holly

I watch Jack carefully check the windows, his posture rigid, every movement controlled as he scans the darkened yard for any sign of our pursuers. My heart pounds, each beat amplified by the silence that hangs heavily in the cabin. This is a nightmare, one I pray I can escape from. But no, this is real, every second of it. There’s no escape here.

Jack holds his gun with practiced ease, his right hand gripped tightly around the handle, his arm angled so the barrel points to the ceiling. Seeing him like this—a dark, silent figure ready to act at any moment—fills me with reassurance and a fear I don’t quite understand. The gun is a reminder that our lives hang by a thread. The tension in his muscles tells me he’ll do whatever it takes to keep us safe. Right now, he’s both protector and warrior, and despite my uncertainty, that thought alone calms me.

The cabin is basic, but at least we’re warm and dry. Jack explained the inverter, which converts the DC power stored in the batteries he’s stashed here into AC power for most household appliances. A propane heater provides warmth without relying on electricity or giving away our location bylighting a fire. The tankless propane heater gives us water for washing and drinking, and the blackout curtains conceal any light from inside the cabin.

One thing is clear—Jack is a professional and has thought of everything. This isn’t some random hideout. Every detail screams preparation. It’s a sanctuary he must have set up long before we ever got here, a safe haven for situations like this.

He moves with quiet efficiency, double-checking every lock and securing every entry point. His focus is unnerving but reassuring, a reminder that he won’t let anything slip through the cracks.

When he finally steps away from the windows, he looks at me, his face shadowed but his eyes sharp. “I’m going to make us something to eat,” he says, his voice low and steady, though there’s a hint of exhaustion underlining it. He doesn’t wait for me to respond; he just turns toward the kitchen area.

I follow him, hugging the oversized flannel shirt he gave me closer to my body. It smells faintly of him—woodsy and clean. The shirt is enormous on me, reaching my knees, and I’ve rolled up the sleeves several times to keep them from dangling past my hands. But it’s warm and comforting.

Jack opens one of the cabinets and pulls out a few cans, setting them on the counter with a methodical precision. “Soup,” he says, holding up a can of chicken noodle as if it’s gourmet cuisine. “It’s not much, but it’ll do.”

I smile faintly. “Better than nothing.”

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