from the early stages of hypothermia. He gathered her into his arms. His heart raced. She was so tiny and fragile. Storms blew in fast in this region, and what started out as a sunny day could quickly turn into bone-chilling temperatures.
He surveyed the fashionable, ankle-length black suede boots, thin trousers and light sweater. Dressed for a cocktail party, not the northern climate.
The woman, barely conscious, moaned as he picked her up and placed her into the back cab of his truck. Coop covered her with the thick wool blankets, slammed the door shut with the heater running, and returned to the sedan.
A small brown-and-white dog lay on the seat, looking half dead. Its fur was clipped short in a puppy cut and its eyes were closed.
A sparkling rhinestone collar with a heart pendant ringed its fat little neck. Next to it was a fancy-looking dog purse with a gold monogram that looked expensive enough to feed his horses for the next three months.
Despite the freezing rain dripping down his neck, Coop stopped and stared. “This is the vicious killer? I had stuffed animals more ferocious.”
Sheesh.
He gathered the dog into his arms and raced to the truck, placing the dog gently on the seat next to Meg. Then he made a quick call to Fiona, assuring his mother he’d found Meg and would return home shortly.
Coop cranked up the heat to full blast, then climbed into the backseat. He removed his jacket and wrapped the dog in it until it resembled a furry burrito.
Had to get this wet clothing off Meg. With a murmured apology, he removed her damp sweater, trying to avoid looking at her breasts, but it was tough. She had lovely breasts, full and generous, and a lacy red bra that was mouthwatering.
Focus.
As he went to drape her in a blanket, he saw enormous yellow and blue bruises on her arm.
Cooper went still. Rage boiled inside him. He gently touched one and heard her moan. Cooper pulled her upper body into his lap and tucked her hands between his thighs, knowing that area held the most warmth.
Yeah, it was doing wonders for his groin, but he’d survive.
Her eyes fluttered open. Green as the Caribbean he loved for scuba diving. Confusion flickered in her irises, then she blinked and panic set in. She tried to pull her hands from between his thighs.
“No,” she whispered. “No, please don’t make me do that. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
Jaw tightening, he forced her hands to remain between his legs. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now, but you’re in danger of getting hypothermia.”
Had to get her back to the cottage, get her warm before the storm got worse. Cooper gently disentangled himself from Meg. The little dog looked up, whined. She’d feel safer with the dog in her arms. As Cooper reached out for the dog, the animal growled.
And promptly bit his hand.
Such delicious warmth.
Meg slowly opened her eyes. She’d been back at the car, Sophie curled beside her, wondering how they would survive the storm and not freeze to death. The cold had pierced her bones like icy knives.
And then she’d closed her eyes, trying to keep her dog warm by holding Sophie tight. The nightmare had been too real. Sophie, kicked out of the house by her husband, wandering the streets during a south Florida cold snap. Curling up in a doorway to stay warm, whimpering and afraid, confused as to why her owners had abandoned her...
She drove, as she had in the past when it really happened, searching the streets for her beloved dog. But this time during the nightmare, a handsome stranger picked Sophie into his arms and scowled at Meg, as if blaming her for Sophie’s condition.
Now as she stirred, she became aware of lying in a warm bed, blankets piled atop her. A lamp glowed softly on a nightstand.
Meg realized she wore only panties and a bra.
And in addition to being half-naked, there was a hard male body next to her, also half-naked. Panic swept through her. She startled and moved away, but a strong, muscled arm hooked around her waist.
“Relax,” a deep male voice said. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The voice was strange, tinged with amusement and a New England accent. The body belonging to that accent was hardened with thick muscle, not soft with fat like Prescott’s. She became aware of the scent of him, all cedar and spicy aftershave, a pleasing masculine smell, not the fancy and expensive cologne disguising the vodka Prescott had consumed far too much lately.
“Get away from me,” she mumbled. “Why are you doing this?
“No one dies on my watch, Princess, and you were entering hypothermia. Body heat is the best way of keeping warm. I daresay your little dog knows this, otherwise she’d be nipping at my toes instead of snuggled beneath them.”
He added, with a wry sound, “And if you got frostbite, the local doc would have to amputate those pretty pink toes of yours.”
She had to get out of here, but oh, the warmth beneath the blankets and the firm, muscled body beside her gave off heat like a blast furnace.
Meg blinked hard, trying to summon precious energy. “Her name is Sophie.”
“Should have called her Ouchie.”
Meg’s mushy brain couldn’t register the joke, until she lifted her head and saw her rescuer hold up his hand where a half moon marked the skin. “Bit clean through my glove.”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” Mortified, she struggled to sit up, more concerned about her dog biting a total stranger who had saved them from death than her lack of clothing.
He pushed her down. “Easy now. You need to stay under these covers a while longer.”
“My dog...”
“No worries,” he said easily. “I trust she’s had her shots, and I’ve had mine, so you needn’t worry about your furball getting a disease.”
Meg realized he was joking. The tension gripping her sore, tight muscles eased a little. She peered upward to get a closer look at him. A thick shock of wavy dark brown hair was cropped short. He had an intense gaze, thin cheekbones and a wide mouth. Handsome, with a hint of Irish blood in those ice-blue eyes.
A dusting of black hair covered his muscled chest. Washboard abs rippled beneath smooth, tanned skin. He was mouthwatering, a prime example of masculinity. Meg stared, still struggling with the unreality that this man had rescued her from the cold and warmed her with his body.
“You’re Cooper Johnson?”
“The one and only,” he drawled. “Your host over the next several days.”
She pulled the blankets up to cover her breasts, well aware her lacy red bra provided thin covering in the chill, and her nipples had turned rigid.
From the cold. Not the pull of attraction toward this handsome stranger. It didn’t matter if her libido sat up and started shimmying.
All she had to do was think of what Prescott would do if he found her, and her heated blood turned to ice.
“Where’s Sophie?”
Cooper lifted the bottom of the blankets. Snuggled at his feet, wedged partly beneath the covers, her dog snoozed. Relief filled Meg. She tossed back the covers, climbed down the length of the bed and gathered her dog into her arms, checking her over anxiously.
“She seems okay.” Meg drew in a deep breath as the awakening Sophie licked her face.
Sheer male interest flared on Cooper’s face. He rearranged the blankets around his waist.