Okay, Ava was officially worried about Trigger. Colton had gone to his little cabin right before the snow hit, but now it had turned into a blizzard. Trigger had been right earlier about the storm. This was white-out bad, though, and he still wasn’t back inside.

She thought she saw movement and squinted out the front window, but nope, it was just more snow. Crap. Maybe she should call the police. Colton had promised her he was fine, but the windchill had it way below freezing, and how could he see in this weather? Maybe Trigger was lost or hurt.

Not that she cared.

No, scrap that, she did care. He was a person. Even if he was rude and weird, she didn’t wish him dead by hypothermia, a broken leg in a blizzard, or getting eaten by a bear or a wolf pack, or a mountain lion, or something. There were a lot of ways to die out here.

She should definitely call the police. Ava shoved off the couch by the front window and motored down the hallway, her rainbow-colored fuzzy socks slipping and sliding on the wood floors in her hurry. She’d forgotten to pack her dang pajama pants, so she was currently wearing a tank top, fuzzy socks, a pair of bright red panties and a robe that she had kept tightly tied around herself just in case Trigger came back in unexpectedly. Right now, though…she had this awful feeling in her gut he wasn’t coming back to his cabin at all, so she didn’t care that the hem of her robe flapped behind her as she made her way into her room and ripped the cell phone off the charger.

Zero bars, zero service, and even standing on the bed, she couldn’t get a call out. Crappity-crap.

What should she do?

Plan A: Bolt onto the porch and yell his name so he could find the cabin through the snow.

Boom. Survivalist.

Ava made her way to the porch, remembered belatedly about Colton’s warning about predators, did an about-face, grabbed an iron poker from the fireplace, and stood on the front porch heaving panicked breaths. And then she sucked that frigid mountain air into her lungs and yelled Trigger’s name as loud and as long as she could. Three seconds between sets, and she was yelling again. And again. And again. Until her throat was raw and scratchy.

Maybe she should walk to Colton’s cabin and get him to help. She scrunched up her face and tried to make out Colton’s small one-room house through the blizzard, but she couldn’t see three feet off the front porch. It would be so easy to get turned around and lost. Trigger was no Romeo, and she sure as shit wasn’t Juliette, so she wasn’t dying with him tonight.

He was weird, but he was also super-hot, and the shallow, horny part of her thought it was sad the world would have one less hunk in it after tonight. Geez, what was wrong with her?

“Trigger!” she screamed again in a hoarse voice.

“Did Colton not tell you the house rule?” Trigger growled from right beside the porch.

Ava shrieked and skittered to the side, clutching her chest.

Trig was butt-naked, and holy hell, his dick was glorious. And huge. And half hard. She stared at his nethers like the cool girl she was, and that made her mad because she’d been out here trying to save his life and now he was dick-stracting her from her fury. That was messed up!

“Where the devil did you come from? I’ve been looking for you! I thought you were hurt or dead or something. And you’re—you’re naked!” Her voice jacked up an octave. “Why are you naked?”

He uncrossed his arms and pushed off the railing he’d been leaning on and gestured to her torso. “I could also ask why you are immodestly dressed out in a snow storm, but I’m sure you have a good reason.”

Ava looked down at the open front of her robe, spied the red of her panties, and squeaked as she rushed to pull the robe around her like a tortilla on a burrito. “I was worried. And not concerned with how I was dressed.” And apparently not cold.

His eyes were glued to her crotch-region, so she kicked at the air and stabbed the log poker at him. “Eyes up here, Massey.”

“Are those rainbow socks?” he asked.

Ava was trying not to look at his body, truly she was, but Trigger’s chest was covered in tattoos, and he had a six pack that flexed with every frozen breath. His arms were huge, his legs powerful, and her earlier uncharitable thoughts about him being hung like a gerbil were completely, one-hundred-percent untrue. “Big dick,” she muttered before she could stop herself.

Trigger offered her a slow, devil-may-care smile and said, “Eyes up here, Dorset.”

Panicked, she dropped the log poker on the porch and muttered, “Righty-oh,” like a weirdo, turned on her heel, and bolted into the house. “I’m glad you lived,” she yelled over her shoulder as she speed-walked down the hall to the tiny guest bedroom.

Panting and her cheeks on fire, she slammed the door and stood in the crevice between the bed and the wall, eyes so wide she felt the need to blink four times in a row. Her mouth hung open as she remembered his big, perfect dick.

Trigger was a cowboy-boot-wearing Adonis. He was the perfect specimen of male. Cocky man with cut musculature that he obviously spent a great deal of time sculpting in the gym, tattoos that were perfectly chosen and placed, and the gold in his eyes was downright sexy, and less terrifying now for some reason.

No, no, no. Don’t get a crush. It’s Trigger. Trigger Massey. The boy who was always rude and could barely stand to look at you. That is not your person. Leave that boy alone.

The door swung open, and as she jumped in startlement, Trigger strode in, fastening a belt buckle over some jeans he’d put on. He was still shirtless, and his eyes were locked right on hers with such an intensity in them, her stomach dipped to her toes. His black hair was mussed on top as though he’d run his big hands through it, and there was a devilish smile sitting right at the corners of his lips. He didn’t say a word, just shoved her robe off her shoulders, gripped her waist, and dragged her against him. His skin was surprisingly hot. She knew because she splayed her palms against his chest, and that heat zinged straight up her arms. His chest was hard as a rock, and her breath began to shake. She should run. Every instinct from her childhood said this was a bad idea, but the way he grabbed her with such confidence made her want to give in. Something about the sparking intensity in his eyes as he searched her face made her want to give him control. How utterly terrifying. How utterly exciting.

He slid his hand up her waist, dragging the hem of her tank top along with it, fingertips brushing her bare skin as he slid her shirt upward. Her body quivered and warmed from the inside out in anticipation. It had been so damn long since a man had touched her. Since she’d allowed anyone to touch her.

She exhaled a soft, shaking breath. “Trigger,” she whispered.

A strange sound emanated from his throat. It was almost as if he purred. It was a sexy noise, and his fingertips found her jawline. He brushed it in gentle strokes, like he was petting her. Like he was steadying her, and then he gritted his teeth in a feral smile and gripped her jaw. She yelped, but he only angled his face and seized her lips with his. It was rough. His beard scratched her soft skin, and his teeth grazed her lips. Three seconds, and he pushed his tongue past her lips and tasted her. Run. Run Ava, what are you doing? But her feet were planted and now her traitor hands were sliding up his chest and wrapping around the back of his neck.

She didn’t want him to stop. Since she’d come here, she’d been bombarded with memories she’d long ago buried, but Trigger was giving her an escape from all the noise in her head. With each stroke of his tongue, she lost herself a little more. And she didn’t hate it. In fact…she liked it.

She brushed her tongue against his, and that purring sound emanated from his chest again. She could feel it against her breasts now that he’d pulled her in close. His arm was strong around her back now, his other hand holding her face in place as he kissed her like no man had done before. It was wild, powerful, and unexpected, and each time he changed the angle of his head, he never left her lips. It was as if he liked the taste of her so much he couldn’t bear to put an inch between them for even a moment.

Traitor body backed slowly toward the bed, testing him, and Trigger followed, his body staying right with hers. It was graceful and easy, like a dance they’d done a hundred times before. Their feet moved together, hers backward, his forward, toes staying right against each other as they walked the five steps to the bed.

She thought she would ease onto it all seductively, but Trigger bit her bottom lip, then leaned down, picked her up, and tossed her unceremoniously on the bed like a caveman. A squeak escaped her, but she didn’t have time to get angry at his surprise move because he was on her within a second. Between her legs, he rolled against her sex. Only his jeans and the thin material of her panties separated them, and she could easily feel his big, thick erection. A wave of possessiveness took her. That’s mine.

What? Mine? Something was wrong with her. Or with him. He was making her feel…feel…well, he was making her feel. Why wasn’t she running? Ooooooh, he was grinding against her now as he kissed her. Trigger gripped her wrists and slammed her hands against the bed above her head so now she was in a completely submissive position. No. No. No. This wasn’t what she liked in the bedroom. She liked to be in charge. So why were there a million butterflies flapping around in her stomach right now? And why she was rocking her hips to meet him? Oh, she was in trouble. Deep, wide, humongous trouble. He smelled good. He’d been outside all that time doing God knows what, but he still smelled of hotboy deodorant, cologne, and something subtle. Something animalistic. Fur? Maybe he had a dog.

His stomach was flexing so hard against hers, and with every roll of his hips he was hitting her just right. She could finish like this so easily. Was that a thing? She hadn’t dry humped since college.

“Ava,” Trigger growled.

“Hmm?”

“Stop thinking. Just feel.”

“I…I don’t know how to do that.”

He smiled against her lips and dragged his fingertips down her neck. “Feel good?”

“Yes,” she answered breathily.

“And this?” he asked, grabbing her breast gently and massaging.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered.

He trailed kisses down her jaw and clamped his teeth gently on her sensitive earlobe, then released her. “This?”

“Mmm hmmm.”

Trigger eased back by a couple inches and slid his hand down the front of her panties. Without a second of hesitation, he pushed his finger into her and whispered, “That’s a good girl,” when she arched her back against the mattress and let off a soft groan.

Holy hell, Trigger was good. Really good. He was playing her body like a violin. He was hitting all the right pressure points, and now she was on fire with each stroke of his finger. And when he pushed a second finger into her, she gasped his name. She was lost. Completely lost. There were no other thoughts outside of whatever Trigger was doing to her. She closed her eyes and just…was.

He pushed into her harder, faster, and she rocked her hips to meet his touch. But right as she was on the verge of coming, right as she was raking her nails down his back and moaning in rhythm to the pace he was setting, right when her body was about to detonate around his fingers, he pulled out of her and jerked away. His movement was fast. Too fast. Her body was left cold, and he damn near blurred to the other side of the room.

“Shhhhit.” He stood there panting, chest heaving with his breath, his neck and shoulders and face flushed, making the strange color of his eyes even brighter. He ran his hand through his hair, mussing it even more, and then he muttered, “I’m sorry,” and walked out of the room. He didn’t bother to close the door, but a few seconds later, she heard the forceful click of his own bedroom door.

And as she sat on that bed, leaned back on locked arms, her clothes all disheveled and her body feeling unsatisfied, the mysteries that surrounded Trigger Massey became even deeper. Before, she’d only wanted to do this job and leave as soon as possible, but now? A small curious part of her was sitting straight up and paying attention to that quiet man.

Maybe he didn’t hate her after all.

Maybe he never had.