Chapter 2

Two

A s a woman who never took a step outside of Texas before today, Ivy's crash course on a real winter had her insides clenching and her eyebrows nearly frozen to the rims of her glasses. "Holy hell."

Damon swung his massive leg forward and she either moved her ass or got dragged by the oversized man to the finish line.

"Drink," he commanded, shoving a plastic shot glass in her hands while his other balanced his side of the tray. It was all she could do to keep up and not lose her grip. They took another step and another, increasing the speed. Faces and voices flashed by and bubbly laughter filled her chest as half of the contents of her glass slipped down her front.

Stings like a thousand needles punched through the worthless barrier of her socks to stab at her feet. Snow sloshed and fanned out but she didn't let the bite of the cold slow her. His stride ate up two of hers, and she could see he was forced to slow his pace to match her shorter one.

A blow from a gust of wind nearly did them in and threatened to topple their tray, to the gasps of the crowd. "You spill any, we have to go back and start all over again," Damon warned, eyes zeroed in on the yellow ribbon that fluttered as a marker for the finish line some twenty yards ahead.

She tossed an askance glance in Ethan's direction. "Damn, that boy can move." They were gaining on them. "Get it in gear, Savage!"

"Yes, ma'am." Damon switched hands on the tray and wrapped his left arm around her waist, the rough calluses of his fingers worked through the soft cotton of her long johns and played havoc with her imagination. Between the two stark contrasts of intense warmth and cold, she couldn't pick between shivering and sweating. Tossing the tray and working herself around him or keeping in step.

Their tied leg made the call for her as Damon set their pace.

Three shots down. Bubbles gurgled in the pit of her stomach and she went back for more before her better judgment slammed into her.

Damon's palm pressed her close until their sides connected, her long johns to his naked skin.

The simple contact ignited a friction between them that made her question her sanity for the one-hundredth time in the last hour.

Damon flinched against her and his grip slipped a little. He stumbled but quickly righted himself, and she tightened her hold on the tray, giving him a couple of seconds to right himself before the team effort ate major snow.

Ivy bit back a curse when she nearly spilled a shot glass as her fingers grew stiff. On the outside, everything felt frozen but on the inside, a furnace roared. She took another shot and propped one to Damon's lips as he guided them down the street, hands full of her and the tray once again.

Loud whistles and cheers moved them forward, and the cold dulled as the liquid gave her a false sense of warmth. Or it could have been the furnace tied to her that beat back the cold.

Either way, they had three strides on Ethan, but he and his new wife were booking across the cleared path and would be on their tails and fast.

"Shiiiiittttt... faster, Damon, Pick your feet up!" she yelled around a mouthful of whiskey. Her liver would be a shriveled little pickle after this, but damn it, that blue ribbon would be theirs! The race suddenly became less about a new nursery for her sister and more about winning at all costs. She was too competitive to lose and her sister knew that.

Icy wind cut the corner of a building and forced a harsh gasp from her.

Damon didn't even flinch.

Iced doom approached fast and she had a split second to react.

Ethan had not lied.

Ice stretched across their half of the road. She threw her one empty hand out and prayed to God she didn't send them back to the starting line.

As she wobbled left and right, fear skated across Damon's expression the split second she dared a glance. By a sheer miracle, he held them together long enough for her to find her footing on the other side of the slick black patch. Her stomach insisted on rolling with the punch but went forward when she leaned sideways. Her mouth watered as the shots threatened to return, and she scrambled forward and nearly pitched the contents of the tray into the cheering crowd.

"Whoops."

"What's wrong, little biscuit? Can't beat us?" She ignored the taunt and earned an evil laugh from her sister's brother-in-law that carried over the noise of the crowd.

Damn him. Ethan took two steps to their one.

"Come on, Damon, move it or lose it!"

His sides rumbled with deep laughter and fed into her body. When she had a second she'd revisit that sound and think about how it stroked along her nerves and senses in a way that shouldn't feel as good as it did.

Damon's strong grip tightened on her side and she fed on his strength. "I got this. Let's go!"

Faces and storefronts rushed by in a blur. The finish line came into view and she pushed harder.

"Finish the booze!"

The burn felt so good now, and she didn't even mind the snow that sloshed around their feet, and they both ignored the cold wetness slapping them in the face.

"Got it." Miracle three hundred of the day—she managed Damon's pace and downed her last two one after the other. Oh, damn she would feel that later.

Thundering beat after thundering beat, her heart pounded against bone and air seemed too hard to come by.

Mouth on fire and eyes full of water, the only thing she could really feel was Damon's strong arms wrapped around her.

Someone grabbed the now empty tray and replaced it with a warm blanket, and Damon reached between them to loosen the sash around their legs and swung her into his arms in the smoothest move she'd seen since Travolta in Grease.

Warm, possessive lips claimed hers, and a strong taste of whiskey flamed across her tongue as she dipped the tip between his lips. His large hand pressed into the back of her head, the other firmly on her ass as he returned the kiss, delving in for a deeper taste. Instinct had her head tilting to the side and fingers digging into his slightly wet hair.

Warm, masculine and…hers?

She groaned into his mouth

This was a nice place to be. Tucked in his arms, the cold be damned.

As if a switch was flipped, Damon tensed as if realizing he was kissing the new girl he only met a few minutes ago.

He broke the kiss, his lips less than a breath away from hers. Her glasses slipped but she could see the fire in his eyes. The way they lit from within with something more than euphoria over the win.

Setting her away from him, he bit out, "That shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry about that." He tried to work the blanket around her shoulders.

No warm smile or funny jab, no excuse or explanation. Just a cold rejection.

A smile slipped over her lips as she took it all in. She watched as his expression darkened from one second to the next, and his once bright eyes dulled to an echo of what they had been.

Well, who stole his jar of honey? Feeling stupid and caught up in the excitement, she raised her chin and situated her glasses in place. "Yeah, don't worry about it, buddy." She really should have stayed in Houston, told her sister she'd quit school over the phone and stopped being such a freaking pussy.

According to her guidebook, the sun set way before it should and true to the facts, daylight dimmed to an early evening. Lights sprang to life yet the shadows quickly clung to his face.

She patted his chest with a couple of quick taps. "I get that kind of reaction all the time." She jerked away and put several paces between her and the delicious feel of his heat and body wrapped around her before she managed to make a bigger fool of herself.

Her read on people normally never failed, but with him, boy, she totally missed the target by a mile. She waited as another loud group of people rushed by and scanned each face for something else to focus on besides the brooding man at her back and the odd way it settled in her stomach.

Or it could be the booze.

She pushed forward to put some space between them. He had a serious mental case. Hot one second and cold the next. He was right where he needed to be in the frozen lands of Alaska. But right now, she had bigger problems. Like finding her sister, her clothes and her ticket outta this little snowglobe of a town. Besides, storming off into the crowd wrapped in a blanket and not a clue where her bags were—or her clothes—didn't exactly have the full don't-mess-with-me effect she was going for.

"Look," he started.

Don't look back. Don't look back. The knot in the pit of her stomach she had nursed for the last three days before coming here doubled in size.

"Ivy. I'm sorry."

Don't look back.

She totally turned.

Pain radiated out from Damon, and she could see the remorse that riddled his face. Damn it. She rolled her eyes and fidgeted with the blanket, pulling it tighter around her shoulders.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Come inside to the bar. My brother Drake put your bags in the office." He jerked his head in the direction behind him.

At least that answered one question. Sounding gruff, he lowered his voice as he guided her to the sidewalk with a hand on her lower back. "You need to get out of your wet clothes and get warmed up. I can't have you getting sick because of me."

The shower and dry clothes sounded like a great idea. "No, you look. I'm not the one that grabbed me and kissed me ." She raised her chin with confidence she didn't quite feel, and that ate at her insides. The man had a way of knocking her off-kilter and that would stop now before it became a problem.

The noise dimmed and heads swiveled her way. Great, now everyone was looking at them. Again.

His blazing gaze penetrated hers. "I've hurt you." A ghost of what appeared to be guilt played at the corners before he shut down into an unreadable mask.

"Not even in the slightest, buddy."

If he had a scowl before, now he looked like she served him up a bowl of lemons and force-fed him each one.

"Forget it." She moved to turn on her heel, the thick material of her socks caught on the rough cement of the sidewalk. "Coming here was a big mistake."

"Hey, girlie," called one of the townsfolk as they shuffled around one person only to bump into the next. Coming in hot, a man flirting with eighty, bright-eyed and hunched forward from age or decades working in the harsh environment, caught her off guard. "I've never seen long johns and mistletoe look so good."

Her brows pinched then she remembered the little decoration on her choice of underwear.

"Thanks old-timer." She guessed. This day was just too weird.

She donned her practiced smile reserved for patients and tucked a little deeper into her cocoon of the blanket. And why she didn't see the set of ice-white eyes and the man with equally white hair until it was too late.

She fell forward. "Oops, sorry."

Broad hands reached out to stabilize her but not before she was nose deep in solid muscle that smelled like fresh snow and a hint of something else entirely. Cinnamon maybe? Or Nutmeg. It made her feel like she could ask the stranger anything and he would give her an answer.

Contrary to her profession and medical training, she recognized the earth tendrils of the herbs from her visits with an herbal doctor for a patient that couldn't afford the crazy prices of prescription drugs for migraines.

Medicine didn't start and stop with blue pills and white lab coats in her opinion, but that wouldn't pay the massive student loans and building debts.

"Woman, my apologies."

She rubbed a flat palm over her forehead. "Last I checked, yes, I'm a woman," she whipped out, tired and cold.

"I meant it as no insult."

"Right. I'm getting used to that."

"Show me who has insulted you and I'll show them how to treat a lady."

Really? Her brows pinched together so much she feared the deep groove between them would crease into a permanent scowl with how many times these people had her questioning her sanity. He dipped his chin and cast a hooded gaze over her that left Ivy tempted to ask how he planned on becoming her knight in shining armor. In a slow glide of her gaze, Ivy took in the man before her.

He towered over her five-five frame, fists flexed at his sides like a warrior ready to swing his sword. In stark contrast to the warmth that came from Damon, this man was stone cold. A solid wall of muscle, she'd give him that, and damn near matched Damon. She was oddly grateful they were not alone. While he didn't give off a killer vibe, the sense of danger he emitted had her wondering if he snuffed people for a living and enjoyed every second of the process. Probably even liked digging the graves too, judging by the way his muscles rippled with every movement beneath the black and blue plaid shirt. No coat.

"Reaper," Damon called from directly behind her as he wrapped her in his arms. For the moment she didn't fight it. The hard edge to the white-haired man sent up a red flare, and the knot in her stomach warned of danger.

"Savage." Razor-sharp and crisp, he sliced out Damon's name with a chilled, even tone. Then again, nothing this man did probably came remotely close to warm and fuzzy.

"Why don't you join the rest in the bar while I get Ivy settled?"

After years in an orphanage and guest to a few foster parents who thought kids were better off silent, Ivy knew when to seal her lips and not argue.

"If that is what the lady wants."

Her eyes darted to Damon then returned to Reaper. What did that mean?

Tension, as though a colored past lay between them, stretched in a long silence, but she had to hand it to them—it seemed they were trying to work on being less of an enemy and more friends. At least that was what she picked up from the way no one was duking it out. There was something definitely between the two, though, and she was a rabbit caught in the middle.

"It is. The lady would like a shower, dry clothes, and food. And coffee. Lots of coffee." And a plane ride back to Fairbanks, but she didn't add that part. "All in that order."

People made a wide berth around their spot on the sidewalk. Reaper stood as though he considered his options. Impossibly gray eyes flicked between them for a second and then something crossed his expression as though he saw a clearer picture. Man, she wished he would share whatever light bulb moment he had.

"I see now. Savage. It's good seeing you again as always." As if a ghost, the oddly sexy stranger melded with the crowd and disappeared.

Silver dots twinkled across her vision as a veil of darkness threatened to take over all her senses. White snow turned fuzzy and her knees turned to noodles.

"It's the whiskey. You don't seem like the drinking type. It must be getting to you. When is the last time you ate, sweetheart?"

"I'm gonna kill my sister."

Steel bands wrapped around her middle, and she was staring into the sexiest set of amber eyes before she could protest. With little effort, he had his other arm beneath her legs.

"Wouldn't want you to pass out in the street half naked."

She pinned him with a hard look as his rigid body flexed under her touch. She ignored the flare of heat in his eyes and looped her arms around his neck.

"Come here, I've got you."

"Bad for business, right," she clattered out, but her words drowned in the joyous cheers and merriment of the whole town pushing through the doors of the Savage Fire, Damon's bar and what seemed like the go-to spot for a night out. Her sister spent the better part of the last year working in the bar as a second job to help her pay for med school. Countless phone calls and late-night girl talk began and ended here. So much so that she felt she knew the place—and its owner—without even stepping a foot past the wide wooden double doors.

Guilt rushed her head-on.

As they entered Damon's bar, she noticed several tables clustered in the center of the bar and the scent of thick smoke mixed with alcohol wafted over her.

Garland wound around the entire place with tiny white lights, and she couldn't hold back the smile at such a burly man worrying over holiday decorations.

Opposite the door, a group of girls with pulled back hair and too little clothing for the dead of winter pounded double shooters with red peppers sticking out of the tops. She whipped her head around and the room tipped sideways while her body hit reverse. Her buzz waned and an annoying throb started up between her eyes.

Loud rumbling crunched her midsection, and she splayed a hand across her treacherous stomach to squelch the sounds.

"Tell me, when is the last time you ate?" he asked again softly.

"Don't know." Which was the truth. "The second my rotation at the hospital ended I grabbed a cab for the airport. here I am. I think I might have had a stale bag of peanuts."

The crease between his brows told her he didn't like her answer. "Let's get you settled."

Sounded good to her. "Thank you."

Ethan came up beside them and planted a big kiss on her cheek. "Until next year, little sis."

He retrieved a thick, colorful scarf from a nearby chair and passed it to a woman huddled inside her own cocoon before disappearing under the Savage Fire's red and blue sign hanging above the door. Bright fingers of color bled into the rapidly dimming daylight to cast a colorful glow over the unsullied snow.

Her heart softened and she struggled to make sense of the emotions that swelled inside. Ivy knew it was lame to take any kind of comfort from the tender gesture of inclusion into the fold.

She shoved it aside like she did everything else and dealt with what she could control. The here and now.

More and more people flooded by, but Damon cut through the throng with ease and made a beeline around tables butted up against each other, stools dotting every space a chair didn't occupy and aimed for a door that had the sign Manager stamped on it in stencil-styled white lettering.

Damon slipped his hand to the small of her back as he eased her to the floor, and though common sense said she shouldn't feel the heat of his touch through the inches of cloth, she did. Her imagination could summon a lot, but not that. It melded through the coarse cotton-wool blend and soothed away the cold that took root deep in her bones.

"Thank you." She spoke softly as though anything stronger would break the small bubble cast over them as she huddled in her blanket, his back blocking everyone from view.

He smiled gently; an elbow braced above her head on the wooden doorjamb.

"Thanks goes to you, actually. I haven't had so much fun in... a while," he added cautiously, his gaze swinging back over the growing crowd before finding hers again.

She brushed a finger over her cheek as she secured the blanket around her shoulders with her other. "I won't take long and then I'll be out of your hair."

His expression softened and the hard edge that had taken hold faded. "Take as long as you like. No one will bother you. Drake put your bags by the back window. You can warm up in the shower and join us when you're ready."

He paused before he continued as if considering what to say next.

"There are clean towels on the back of the chest in the bathroom. Soap and a variety of shampoos, too. My sister swears by a few in there so I'm sure you'll find something. And afterward, we'll get you something to eat from the kitchen. And maybe you'd like a Savage Fire to chase away the last of the Alaskan hello from your bones."

His normally bright eyes swirled with a golden tinge. He wore wild energy like she wore perfume and it made her feel dizzy.

Chin tilted high, she stared into his eyes, mentally prepared for anything. "Believe me I think I already had a little too much Savage Fire for one day."

"You're stronger than you think."

He stood so close she couldn't take a half breath without inhaling everything that made up Damon Savage and suddenly she wanted to know everything about him.

"Believe me, Ivy, you'll know when you have a Savage Fire in your hands."

She didn't miss the hidden message in the otherwise innocent words. She didn't need to read his shuttered gaze to know his words went deeper than just the drink his famed drink. Though tempted to push his limits and toy a bit with his on-again-off-again antics, she decided against poking the bear and bit her tongue instead of taking the bait he dangled between them.

The way her name rolled off his tongue made her smile, and she took delight in the small things. As if he made love to the double syllables before letting them fall from his lips.

Gah, she needed a shower. Now and preferably ice cold. Her blood alcohol level must be hitting sky high. She didn't know how she wasn't seeing double of him.

He leaned across her and flicked the knob and let the door slowly swing open to reveal a softly lit office with a single window on the far wall.

"What about you? Though the female population probably doesn't mind its men running around like Tarzan, you have to be cold."

He retrieved a key from behind the bar to his left and somewhere out of her line of sight. "I'll use the one upstairs. See you in a few." She watched as he turned to go, quickly swallowed by the crowd.

"Good heavens, that man is walking temptation."

Behind closed doors, she stood with her head tilted back and rapped the back of her knuckles across her lips. It had been a quick kiss, but she could still feel the warmth of his lips against hers, the brush of his day-old beard across the smoothness of her chin. His steely attitude afterward would never erase how his lips claimed hers. The man stirred sensations in her she couldn't ignore, and that was a problem. She had three days here. Long enough to tell her sister she didn't have to worry about med school payments anymore and short enough not to grow attached to anyone. Keep it simple. That was her rule.

Keep. It. Simple.

Her two suitcases and a small single travel bag were where he promised. Parked up against the back wall in the only open space that didn't harbor one of several brown leather sofas or overly plump chairs that looked like a dream to spend a Sunday in reading the hours away.

The lock slinked into place with a flick of her wrist, and she immediately went to work on stripping off the wet socks and equally wet long johns. Plush beige carpet covered every inch of flooring, and her bare toes sank into the soft, cushiony threads. Pleasure sent her eyes rolling back and she was very tempted to curl up under her blanket and take a nap right then and there.

To the left and behind a heavy oak desk, bookshelves lined the expanse of the walls from ceiling to floor with lamps in either corner. Several of the shelves held family pictures, hand carvings of various animals here and there and ribbons or trophies were tucked in like little memories.

She made her way around the small office that was bigger than her bedroom and kitchen put together back home. In the center of the room, a rich brown leather chair hugged a hand-carved desk weighted down by various stacks of papers and a single photo of a smiling woman. Ivy made her way over for a closer look and palmed the heavy silver frame. Soft golden eyes stared back at her, her smile as wide and accented by the trademark dimple she'd discovered all the Savage siblings she'd met shared.

She couldn't help but wonder what made this one picture so special to earn a solitary spot on the desk.

Metal crashed, and whoops and hollers broke out beyond the locked door. She returned the picture to its place in the center of the desk. From across the room, the faint chirp of her phone sounded. She fished out the cell phone and glanced at the screen, only to cringe as the familiar face of her friend. Dread slinked in until the office slipped behind a shimmering wall of tears. Suddenly her head ached and her mind went back to forty-eight hours previous to her flight here. She plopped down on the leather sofa and cradled her face in her hands, ignoring the call.

A little red dot flashed on her screen that signaled a message in her inbox.

Get your head on straight or don't come back at all. Her supervisor's last words to her before she clocked out of her six-week rotation plagued her mind.

Before she could stop herself, she clicked the red dot and the kind voice of her best friend played over the speaker.

"Hey, lady. Did you tell her yet? Maybe you should reconsider? You know, just don't give up everything overnight."

A pause.

"It wasn't your fault, Ivy. You tried your best. Even the overseeing doctor said you made the best call. Call me back when you get this."

Ivy ended the message and hit delete.

Her best call, as her friend put it, hadn't helped, and now a mother of three lost her life because Ivy couldn't save her in time. The drugs had already seeped into her system by the time they'd gotten to her. Now, three small children were doomed to live the life she'd experienced as their mother lay in a grave from an overdose.

Tears welled and slid down Ivy's cheeks.

A shower, then dry clothes and maybe a plate of food. A little focus helped the tears dry up. But the sadness in her heart burrowed deeper like an unwanted sickness.

She gathered her supplies and made her way to the only other door that led to the bathroom. She flicked the switch and instantly realized a pattern with Damon.

Bright light flooded the small area. Stark white walls with rich coloring in the hand towels lined the top of the chest positioned opposite of the sink. Forest green and royal blue and a hint of gold in the fixtures.

Everything had a space and place with nothing cluttering the counters except an odd hand-carved bear.

The blanket pooled around her feet and within a minute, she swayed under the hot streams of water and relished the steam filling the small room as it eased the ache of the cold away. She wished the ache in her chest would melt away just the same. For a moment there, while Damon had his arms around her, that's exactly what happened.

She'd forgotten about everything except him, how his massive body felt against hers and how his lips felt when he'd claimed her mouth with such a powerful kiss. Dominant.

Fact: One kiss from Damon was like a thousand shots of whiskey, and she wanted more of both.