I find Tony sprawled across the couch when I finally finish my preparations in the kitchen. “What were you saying about productivity earlier?” I ask with an eye-roll as I stride past him and reach for my bags.

“I’m being productive,” he replies. Then he holds up his cell phone. “Trying to reach civilization is a productive pastime.”

“Yeah?” I withdraw my own phone and eye the corner. No Service. As I expected. It still hasn’t found any signal. And there’s no Wi-Fi in this cabin—I guess that would be a little too much to ask from this ski bungalow in the middle of nowhere. “How’s that going?”

“Not well,” he admits with a groan.

“Got any bars at all?”

“Nope. You?”

“I’ve had no service since I left Buena Vista this afternoon.”

He heaves a sigh. “Guess we’re in this for the long haul. You seen a radio anywhere?”

“Not in here. We can turn on our cars to check for updates, though I think we should only do that sparingly. If the roads clear up at some point, we’ll want to have enough gas to make it out of here.”

When I turn around, I find him watching me again, this time with a more assessing gaze. “You get stuck in snowy cabins often, Corina?”

“More often than you, apparently. Happens when you’re born and raised in the mountains like this.”

He laughs. “Guess that’s me called out.” He leans back on the couch. There’s space beside him. Just enough that I could squeeze in, though our bodies would be pressed together. I debate taking that seat. It’s the only one in the house… “I’m from California originally,” he says.

“That explains a lot.”

He laughs again. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before. If he did that more often, he might not be so irritating in class. I find myself watching his throat as he swallows, then his mouth when his lips quirk into another grin. “Yes, just another West Coast invader into your poor flooded city. My apologies.”

“Why Tony, that almost sounds genuine.”

“I’m always genuine,” he says. “Just usually I’m genuinely disappointed in people.”

“All people, or just your woefully performing students?” I raise a brow.

He searches my gaze, his smile suddenly dropping. “All people. Or, most of them, at least.”

“You sound awfully picky, Professor.”

“I have high standards. Is that a crime?”

“Only when you take out your standard complex on innocent bystanders.” I cross my arms and lean back against the wall of the cabin. “Or students.”

His gaze rakes over me again. “Oh, I doubt you’re innocent, Corina.”

My cheeks flush again, and I’m far enough away from the fire that I can’t exactly pretend it’s from the heat of the flames. To cover up my fluster, I push off the wall and storm into the kitchen. “As if you know me,” I call over my shoulder.

That, at least, he has no answer to.

I make myself the strangest dinner combination in history. Porridge with some of the grains I found, mixed with a little bit of the bottled water—I’ll stick to that until we have to resort to melting snow. For a side dish, I fry some of the chicken I found in the freezer.

About halfway through cooking, the power flickers and dies. I ignore it. Like I said, thank God for gas stovetops.

A few minutes after it dies, though, I hear the floorboards creak as Professor Lakewood—no, Tony, definitely after the way he’s teasing me now—steps into the kitchen.

“Want some dinner?” I ask.

He steps up behind me, so close I can feel his body heat radiating in the narrow cabin. It’s starting to get cold here in the kitchen. Pretty soon we’ll have to close off the door, hole up in the living room with the fireplace and hope that provides us enough heat for the night. It’s positioned right between the living area and the tiny bedroom, so it should warm both of those well enough, but I doubt it will reach as far as the kitchen.

The cold is what I’d like to blame for the way I shiver and catch my breath. Really, it’s him. Thinking about his body so close to mine, those taut muscles I glimpsed earlier as we chopped wood together. His know-it-all smirk. So infuriating, and yet…

I swallow hard and tighten my thighs. And yet, I can imagine how that smirk would look as he pulled me into a kiss. How his tongue would invade my mouth, and those strong arms of his would circle my waist, pull my soft body against his hard one. I wonder what kind of cock he’s hiding in those jeans…

Stop it, Corina. I can’t do this. He’s my professor.

“What are you making?” he asks. His breath ghosts against the back of my neck, making the hairs rise.

“Whatever we have.” I eye the stove. “Chicken and porridge.”

He laughs softly, breath feeling hotter now. “Regular Martha Steward here.”

I snort and step aside, mostly so I can move my body away from his, breathe again without thinking about stepping backwards, bending over to push my hips against his and see what he’d do. Instead, I pass him the spatula. “Let’s see what you can do, then.”

He sizes me up—and takes his time about it, too. His gaze drops to my chest, lingers for a moment, before he spins around and starts digging through cabinets. I let out a faint sigh of relief when his gaze leaves my body. Whenever he looks at me, it makes me want to jump his bones right then and there. At least when he’s paying attention to something else, I can focus somewhat.

To my surprise, Tony starts pulling out spices and sauces I didn’t even notice when I did inventory earlier. It’s not like those spices add any calories to a meal, so I didn’t bother to note their nutritional value. But he uncaps a few and splashes them across the chicken, and suddenly the smell wafting through this narrow kitchen isn’t boring anymore. In fact, it smells almost… good.

“What are you doing?” I ask. Unconsciously, I lean a little closer to him.

He casts me a sideways, knowing smirk, then gestures for me to hand him one of the spices. I pass it over. “You might be the survivalist, Corina, but you still cook like a student. Try adding a little spice to your life once in a while.”

My cheeks flush once more, and not from the heat of the stove as he tosses the chicken. “I have spice!” I protest. “I do lots of spicy things. Just not cooking at home.”

“Cooking can be fun when it’s not only for yourself,” he points out with a casual smile.

My eyes narrow. I know he’s not married. Every girl in class made sure to research that the first day we walked in and saw him smirking up there by the blackboard. “Why? Do you enjoy cooking for your many hookups, Professor?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” His gaze darts to mine, catches my eye and holds it. “I enjoy cooking for two.”

“Well lucky you, now’s your chance to change that,” I say without thinking. Then my eyes widen when I realize what I just said. Enjoy cooking for your many hookups?

For his part, Tony just laughs. “Lucky me indeed,” he says, and I expect him to follow it up with some sarcastic comment about being trapped in this cabin with his least favorite student. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to the stove and keeps cooking.

A few minutes later, he dumps the chicken onto a plate and passes it to me. Our fingertips brush again, and I bite my lip to contain the gasp that wants to escape. Because fucking hell, the electric sparks that set off in my belly every time our skin touches…

I clamp that down. Accept the plate and try a bite.

Holy shit.

“Good?” Tony’s watching me with a knowing smirk, not having tasted any of his own yet.

“You must have a lot of hookups to cook for,” I say when I’ve swallowed.

He laughs aloud, then picks up his own plate. Takes a single bite and grimaces a little. “You must not be treated properly by your hookups, Corina. This is hardly impressive.”

“College boys aren’t exactly known for their culinary skills,” I reply, swallowing another huge bite of the chicken.

“And college boys are still to your taste?” He doesn’t meet my eye, not now. He’s studying his plate, a little too carefully. But I can hear the unasked question in his voice. The thin ice we’re treading on.

Much as I know I ought to back away from it, I don’t want to. I want to skate right out there and fall through, thin ice be damned. “Usually,” I say, my voice lighthearted. Smooth. “Lately, though, I’m starting to think about trying more complex dishes.”

He glances up at that, startled, but I’m already moving away, into the living room. It’s too cold in the kitchen.

Tony follows me, and when I ask him to, kicks shut the kitchen door behind him. Now we can confine what heat we have to the living quarters, at least.

For a few minutes, we eat in silence. I remain standing, refusing to sit by him on the couch. Not when it’s so small I’d practically be in his lap. I just keep eating to distract myself. Flirting aside, both of us are clearly hungry, which causes me my first slight pang of worry about this situation. One glance out the window shows me the storm hasn’t let up. If anything, it’s gotten worse, fat flakes of snow building up along the windowsill. There’s not a lot of light outside, with all the clouds, and with us being so far up here in the mountains. From what I can see, though, the snow has already built up at least a few inches.

“The plows will start clearing the roads in the morning,” Tony says, reading my mind. “No use worrying about it now.”

He’s right. I finish the rest of my meal in a few bites. “I just wish we had some kind of phone signal. Some way to figure out how long we’re going to be holed up here.”

“I think it’s safe to say at least overnight.” He checks his phone again, shows me the screen. Still no service. Then he scoops up our empty plates and disappears into the kitchen a moment. When he returns, he’s got a fresh stack of wood with him.

“If it doesn’t pass tonight, we’ll need to start conserving our supplies,” I say.

“Let’s worry about that after we get through the night,” he replies. He kneels beside the fireplace to stoke it once more. Once he’s finished with that, he stands, hesitates. He grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and takes a seat, spreading it across his knees.

I keep standing.

For a few moments, I pace. Then I crouch beside the fire, rubbing my hands.

Finally, Tony rolls his eyes and slaps the cushion beside him. “Sit down, Corina.”

Still, I hesitate.

“You’re going to pace yourself to death. That or freeze when you pass out in the middle of the floor. Sit down.” His green-gold eyes catch mine. Pin me in place. “Unless you’re scared of what will happen if you do.”

I raise my chin at that. Step over, defiant, and drop onto the cushion next to him. “I’m not scared.”

“Good.” He spreads the blanket across us both, and my breath catches. Our legs are pressed together now, his skin hot against mine, even through both of our jeans. “Because really, I’m the one who ought to be worried here.”

“Oh really?” I catch his eye, lift a single brow. “Why is that, Professor?”

“Some might call this a compromising position.” His gaze drops again to my mouth. On purpose, I slowly lick my lips, and have to resist a grin when I see the way it makes his pupils dilate and his mouth part.

It’s making me hotter, too, knowing the effect I have on him.

“Corina…”

“Yes, Tony?” I shift against him. My whole body seems to catch fire with that, just the brush of my thigh against his, the sensation of his warm, strong body pressed against my side.

“You’re breathing very fast,” he says. His gaze lifts back to mine, and his eyes shift back and forth as he studies me. Reads me, in a way no one ever has. “Your pupils are dilated.”

“So are yours,” I reply. My voice comes out too faint, too uncertain.

His smile widens. “One might almost think you were having a reaction to sitting this close to me.”

“One might,” I whisper. My gaze drops to his mouth. His lips, curved in a smirk, perfectly shaped. His cheeks dusted with dark stubble, below razor-sharp cheekbones.

He lifts his arm, brushing against mine—both our arms are bare, and that contact is enough to make me gasp aloud, though I try to cover it, to clamp my mouth shut. “I must say, Corina.” He raises that arm. Brushes a strand of my hair back from my cheek, across my shoulder. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to shiver with delight. “You seem fairly distracted from our predicament just now. Is there something else on your mind?”

I glance down farther. Along the smooth plane of his chest, down his abs, currently hidden under the blanket, though I can still picture the perfectly cut shape in my mind. My eyes drop right to his crotch—and to the bulge there now, visible even through the blanket and his jeans. “It seems I’m not the only one with something else on the mind, Tony.”

He raises a brow. “So you are distracted.”

“So are you.”

His smirk widens. “Whatever can we do about that, I wonder…”

I push myself upright, a little closer to him. Half my body is pressed against his side now, and our faces are an inch apart. His breath dusts my lips. “I wonder, indeed. Don’t you have any ideas, Professor?”

“You’re the one giving me all my ideas right now, Corina.” His hand drops down my arm, and my nerves light up, my skin burning at his touch. “Tell me. Which one should I pursue?”

“Depends. What are the options?” I lean a little closer, half sitting up so I’m kneeling above him, looking down into his eyes. Our noses touch.

“Well, there’s this one…” Suddenly, he grabs my waist and swings me over him. My other knee lands on his far side, so I’m straddling him on the tiny couch, thighs clenched around his waist. I can feel the hard press of his bulge now, right against my crotch, and fucking hell, I’m already so wet I can feel my panties sticking to me.

Without thinking, I arch my back, start to grind against his stiff cock. He groans, and I run my hands through his hair, pulling his head back, pinning him in place looking up at me, as I twist my hips to position his cock right against my clit. I moan softly as I grind again, slower and harder this time.

Then Tony grabs my hair in his fist and kisses me.

Fuck.