Page 6 of Undoing His Innocent Enemy (Hot Winter Escapes)

Trust me to get rescued by the most reluctant knight ever.

‘I’ll check on you during the night,’ he added. ‘Sleep now.’

Her eyelids shut on his command, but as she was whisked away by the foggy exhaustion—her body finally having stopped shivering long enough to sink into the mattress the rest of the way—all she could think was how odd it was that even though she was pretty sure she didn’t like him, and hereallydidn’t like her, she was glad he would be near tonight.

When she woke the next morning, Cara had a vague recollection of being awakened during the night by her rescuer. He’d taken her temperature and adjusted the heated blanket a few times... As she flexed tired, aching limbs in the huge bed, and inhaled that tantalising scent again, she realised the electric blanket was gone. So he must have retrieved it, to allow her to sleep comfortably during the night.

She blinked down tears as she turned towards the enormous picture window.

Now, don’t you dare go getting emotional for no reason, Cara Doyle. He only did what any decent person would do in the circumstances. He could hardly be leaving you out there to freeze.

But even though she knew the emotion was simply relief after the painful, frankly terrifying ordeal of being stranded in the snowstorm, not sure if she would survive it, and that odd feeling of intimacy as he’d tended her through the night, it was hard not to feel indebted. And pathetically grateful.

For a guy who clearly did not want her in his home, he’d been remarkably diligent. And though brusque, also gentle with her.

Unlike the night before, when there had been a clear view of the forest through the glass wall, snow swirled now, and ice drifted across the landscape. The snow-laden forest on the edge of the tundra was obscured by what looked like another approaching storm.

She forced herself out of the bed, glad to discover her legs were still in working order, even if she did feel winded by the time she had crossed the room.

She pressed her nose to the frosted glass. Even though she was in only her thermal tights and her underwear, the ambient temperature in the room felt warm and comfortable. Mr Grumpy’s Fortress had much better insulation than her mammy’s farm in Wexford, that was for sure, where she and her brothers had worn their outside coats indoors when the temperature had dipped to ten degrees. They’d have frozen solid in minus thirty.

There you go, thinking of home again.

She admonished herself. She had never been sentimental about Ireland, not since she’d left to pursue her dream of becoming a wildlife photographer, after spending years as a child watching and observing and finally learning to document the birds and small creatures in and around the farm.

The photos.

Panic pierced her heart.

She’d left her camera with the shots she’d taken of the lynx in the saddlebags of her broken snowmobile. The shots she’d nearly died to acquire... And which even now might be buried under a snowdrift.

She needed to thank Mr Grumpy for his help and get back to her snowmobile. But already she suspected the snowstorm was going to make that hard. And her weakened condition probably wasn’t going to help either.

She wiped the mist off the glass as she spotted something... A large snowmobile driving across the frozen lake. The figure bundled in the necessary six or seven layers of winter clothing in the saddle handled the lumbering machine with casual grace, making him instantly recognisable.

Mr Grumpy. Aka the guy who had rescued her and tended her throughout the night, but whose name she didn’t know.

A strange shudder shot through her, bringing with it a spurt of adrenaline to jolt her out of her maudlin thoughts of her family’s farm—and her panic about the precious cargo she’d left in the forest. She tracked the snowmobile as it drove towards the house then disappeared beneath her, into what had to be the garage where she could remember them arriving the night before.

Before he’d carried her first into the vast living area then into this bedroom.

A weight formed in her throat, then swooped down into her belly as she recalled the feel of his hands, impersonal but also gentle, as he’d stripped her wet clothing off. The feel of his shoulder tensing under her hand, his arm braced against her back as he forced the hot drink on her, and those piercing silvery blue eyes locked on her face, studying her...

Sensation rippled over her skin, a lot more vivid now than it had been last night, when her brain had been foggy and her body too tired to experience much of anything but the intense cold, and those violent shudders.

Stop thinking about him. And figure out how to rescue your camera.

She pressed her forehead to the glass. And evened her breathing, trying to ignore the unfamiliar sensations rippling over her skin. She needed to formulate a plan as soon as she could, because the lynx photos were the crowning glory that would help her sell her Lapland portfolio to the stock photo site she’d been schmoozing for months.

She needed that income to pay off the credit cards she’d maxed out in the last six months to set up in Lapland. To take the next step in her career plan, she had to free up more time to observe and study the behaviour of the wildlife she wished to document and less time in the menial jobs—barista, waitress, hotel cleaner—that had just about kept her solvent...

Which would mean begging Mr Grumpy to take her to her machine, and—if it couldn’t be fixed—then back to Saariselkä.

The good news was, he was clearly more than happy to travel in a storm. And, wherever he’d been just now, he was back. Not so good was the fact that—after she’d hunted the room—the rest of her clothes seemed to have disappeared, and she was now totally breathless.

Also not good... From her interaction with him so far, she did not think her host was going to be too pleased about being asked to do her another enormous favour.

Plus, charm had never been one of Cara’s strengths. She knew that. She’d always been outspoken and fiercely independent, especially with men—thanks, Da—which was probably why she’d never had much luck in the boyfriend department. Something her mother had pointed out on numerous occasions.

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