I drive down the freshly plowed and salted road. Snow is piled high on both sides. I could have taken the freeway, but I like driving through this stretch of forest road. There’s a calmness to it, which is exactly what I need after a hectic 12-hour shift as an ER nurse.

I start to imagine the feel of my warm bed. I’ll sleep alone, as always, but at least I’ll be snug and cozy. Maybe I’ll even let my dog up on the bed with me. I don’t usually allow it, but the extra warmth would be nice.

I yawn and clutch the steering wheel with both hands. I’m tired enough that I need both hands on the wheel for extra alertness. There are a lot of deer in these woods, and the woods extend almost to the road on both sides. It’s 4am, and deer are most active at this time. One could pop out of the woods at any moment, and–

I slam on my brakes. I hear the crunch of salt as my tires skid. The thing in front of me isn’t a deer. It’s a man.

My car slides to a stop a dozen or so feet in front of him. He stops and looks up at me, but his face is covered with a scarf, and he shields his eyes from the glare of my headlights.

I roll my window down, and the cold seeps in. I stick my head out the window. “Are you okay?”

He turns his back to me and walks on. No, he isn’t walking so much as limping. He’s hurt.

I drive onto the shoulder, put my car into park, and go out after him.

“Hey!” I shout at his back. He’s walking toward the woods. “Didn’t you hear me? Are you okay?”

“Leave me alone,” he says. His voice is deep and hard. He doesn’t even turn to look at me.

I walk up behind him. His limp is slowing him so much that it’s easy to catch up to him.

“Let me drive you to the hospital,” I say. “You cannot walk on that leg.”

He stops moving. I can only see his back. He has wide, broad shoulders, and a frame that towers over me. He stays frozen for a long moment, then finally turns toward me.

I only see his eyes at first. His scarf is wrapped around the rest of his face, and he’s wearing a beanie that covers his hair. But those eyes... They burn like blue flame. I can practically feel the heat spreading through my belly. He looks down at me like a predator might survey prey, like he knows he could do whatever he wanted with me if he chose. A chill that has nothing to do with the cold runs through me when I realize he might be right.Then he blinks, and something changes. His eyes scan me up and down and take me in. A subtle change comes over his features, almost as if he's curious about me. As if he’s questioning why I would dare stand in front of a predator.

I answer his question, even though he never asked it out loud. “I’m a nurse.”

He reaches up to his scarf and pulls it down. When I see his face, fire rushes into my veins. No, it’s adrenaline. His face is probably the most striking I’ve ever seen–a face to match those intense eyes. His jaw is rugged and hard, and it’s covered in thick stubble, as if he hasn’t shaved for a day or two.

His mouth twists into the slightest hint of a smirk, and he shakes his head. ”Congratulations,” he says after a long pause. “Maybe you should go back to your car, nurse. It’s safer there.”

He turns his back to me again and starts limping away.

“You really shouldn’t walk on that,” I shout at him, and I run in front of him, blocking his path. As much as his bullheadedness has me wanting to walk away and salvage my pride, my instincts won’t let me walk away from an injury that has a man his size limping so heavily. My stubbornness definitely has nothing to do with how handsome he is. Not a bit.

His eyes widen–just the smallest fraction of an inch–and he raises an eyebrow at me. “And you really shouldn’t stop your car in the middle of the road.”

“Would you rather I ran you over?” I ask, feeling a flush of annoyance. I’m trying to help him.

“If you ran me over,” he says, “At least I wouldn’t have to hear you nagging me.”

I should get back in my car and let this asshole go on his way. I offered my help, and he refused. Why am I pushing to help him? My instincts can be damned if this guy is going to keep pushing my buttons. But the possibility that it may be more than my instincts as a nurse pushing me to follow him makes my stomach churn. No. I’m just not willing to let this big, gorgeous idiot taint my conscience because he won’t listen to reason.

I won’t be able to curl up into my warm bed and sleep soundly if I know I let this arrogant asshole limp into the woods alone, miles from civilization, probably to pass out and freeze to death.

He tries to step around me, but I move to the side and block his path.

He growls at me, like some kind of wild animal giving me a warning before he bites my head off.

I look down at his leg and see that his jeans are torn. There’s dried blood on his leg, and more blood peeking out above his eyebrow and disappearing beneath his beanie.

“Let me help you,” I say carefully, as if he really is an animal that might lash out if I move too suddenly.

I’m only brave enough to say it because he’s hurt. That need to help him overpowers my fear.

“Move,” he says, his voice deep and assertive. “And don’t stop for people in the dead of night. How do you know I’m not dangerous?”

His eyes speak louder than his voice. They stare me down with such intensity that I nearly jump out of his way. But something I can’t explain is holding me in place. I dig my feet into the snow, refusing to move out of his way.

How do I know he’s not dangerous? He is dangerous. I can see it written all over him. He’s dangerous, and it’s a bad idea to help him. But still, I’m a nurse.

“Listen,” I say. “Let me at least drive you.” I scrunch up my face in annoyance. “I’ll try not to nag, I promise”

He clenches his jaw and looks away from me, but I see the hint of a grin touch the corner of his mouth He’s considering my offer, finally. Once I get him into my car, I can better assess his wounds. I can convince him to go to the hospital.

“No roads to where I’m going,” he says. “But it will save me some time if you can drop me on the other side of the forest.”

“Yeah,” I say, gesturing him toward my car. “Come on, I'll take you.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “But if this is just an excuse to get my pants off, I think I have a rape whistle in my jacket somewhere.”

I nearly burst out laughing at the idea of such a tough guy having a rape whistle. He even favors me with a cocky smirk.

“Can I ask your name, or will that get the whistle blown on me?”

“Alex,” he says.