She’d wanted to help him, the way he’d helped her. She’d seen his pain, his trauma, understood a little more about why he had lived alone for so long when he’d spoken of his parents’ deaths in that flat, raw voice. And her heart had broken for him.

Logan Colton, for all his wealth and self-sufficiency, his strength of character and carefully controlled emotions, was terrified of life. Of love. Of feeling too much. Of becoming that terrified child again. She got that now.

But that didn’t mean he loved her. Nor did it mean she could change the course he’d set for his life, especially if he didn’t want to change it.

And by locking himself in his workshop for the last two days, he’d made that very clear.

She’d debated whether to stay in his bed, had considered returning to the guest room she’d slept in when she’d first arrived. But ultimately, she’d been unable to take that final step. Because it had seemed pointless and self-defeating.

If all they could have was the sex—she’d take it. But each time he made love to her without a word, thrusting heavily inside her, bringing her to one shimmering orgasm after another—teasing and tormenting and provoking her, using all the skills they’d learned together over the last two weeks as if he wanted to bind her to him—she’d felt him pulling further away emotionally.

And she’d let him. Because what right did she have to ask more of him than he was willing to give?

She had no idea where he was taking her now—because he hadn’t told her and she hadn’t asked. But when he’d told her to be ready to leave at noon this morning, she hadn’t argued with him.

The journey seemed to go on for ever, giving her far too much time to think of how she could have done things differently.

But as she held him, far too aware of the tensing and flexing of his muscular body through the layers of winter clothing, she couldn’t find an alternative narrative that would give her the result she wanted.

Maybe she’d been a fool to lose her heart so quickly to a man who guarded his own emotions so fiercely. But she couldn’t regret it. The last two weeks had been life-affirming in so many ways. She had never realised until this past week how scared she’d been to risk a relationship, because of the way her father had behaved. She’d taken so many risks to make her career a reality, while all the time denying or burying her emotional needs. She wouldn’t do that any more. She had so much to give, so much to discover. And Logan had been responsible for luring her out of hiding. Her heightened emotions were just something she would have to learn how to manage when this was over.

At last, the snowmobile climbed out of the forest and headed across another frozen lake system. As the sun dipped towards the treeline on the other side of the ice, it highlighted a structure built on the opposite bank. As they got closer, she realised it was an A-frame cabin, constructed in wood, with a deck that would sit over the water in the summer months. Woodsmoke trailed up into the turquoise sky from a chimney in the peaked roof, and the glass frontage sparkled in the dying light.

As the snowmobile headed towards the ridge, her heart sank. Was this where he intended to leave her? With strangers? But as they drew closer, no one appeared from inside the house.

Logan parked the snowmobile in front of a garage, then pushed up his goggles as he looked over his shoulder.

‘We stay here tonight,’ he said.

She hated the way her heart rose into her throat, the stupid bubble of hope that had never completely died expanding in her chest.

Maybe this wasn’t the end after all? If they had one more night together?

He swung his leg over the machine and dismounted, then helped her down from the saddle. Her legs were stiff and cold after the long ride and she stumbled.

‘Easy,’ he said and scooped her into his arms.

She marvelled, not for the first time, at his strength as he carried her effortlessly into the house.

As soon as they entered the well-insulated room, he put her down. Warmth hit her tired body. A woodburning stove blazed in the centre of the open-plan space—which was equipped with a small kitchen and rustic but finely made furniture. She recognised the work as Logan’s.

She could see a mezzanine level with a beautiful hand-carved bed covered in an embroidered quilt. Solar-powered fairy lights glowed through the glass spotlighting a hot tub on a platform outside and making it look like an enchanted bower.

The whole place was impossibly romantic. Why had he brought her here?

As they shrugged off their layers, she tried to figure out what to say, where to begin.

‘Who lives here?’ she asked finally.

He sent her a quizzical look. ‘It is mine. I built it. I paid a contact to prepare it for us. There is stew for tonight and wine.’

‘But why?’ she asked.

Today was supposed to be their last day together. Was this a farewell, or more than that?

The bubble of hope died though, when he stripped off the last of his outer layers, and she noticed the prominent ridge in his ski-pants—which was always there when they were together, it seemed.

Of course, he’d brought her here for one more night of ‘exploring their sexual connection’—which had been his purpose all along. She was the one who had lost sight of that, not him. She was the one who had wanted to build more than just a sexual relationship.