I blinked awake. Where am I? The muted morning sun lit rough log walls and an exposed-beam ceiling. Nothing looked familiar. Turning my head in an attempt to survey the rest of the room, I winced at a sudden pain from my forehead. Bandages on my hand and head. The area all around my right eye was tender.

I needed to stop doing these… This shit was… What?

A low sigh and hand brushing against my skin from waist to chest made me stiffen. Hell, who’d I bring home this time? I turned to look and remembered last night in an instant.

The angelic-faced man hovering all around me, the snow, the fire in that little plane. That noisy four-wheeler and the way it rocketed us through the forest. The cabin, the need to get warm, to sleep. The man who stayed with me the whole time.

Looking at him now as he slept on his side, facing me, an unexplainable feeling struck me. I reached up with my good hand and touched his sleep-pinked cheek, the long, rusty lashes resting on it. I ran my fingers lightly through the wispy curls hugging his head. Despite copper-colored stubble on his cheek, he looked very young, like a teenager.

Which made his morning wood against my thigh a little awkward.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his face against the pillow. The tip of his pink tongue peeked out to wet his full bottom lip. I rolled to my side, his arms slid farther around me, and we both sighed. With the warm gusts of his breath in my face, I closed my eyes and tucked my arms between us. Despite knowing the basics of the trauma I’d been through last night, at that moment, all I wanted was to lay like this with him.

Suddenly, a buzzing rang in my ears, loud and demanding. Jerking away from him caused a bolt of searing pain to shoot through my head. I cursed as he leaned over me to turn off the alarm clock.

He cleared his throat and blinked those odd, golden-hazel eyes at me. “So, good morning.” He scooted his hips away.

I grunted at him.

“Your face looks both better and worse.” Taking the bandage off, the surgical tape giving easily, he examined the wound. “The bleeding stopped, but the swelling and color are up.”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead, surprising me. Looking a little sheepish when he pulled back, he said, “That’s the only way to check for a fever, according to my mother, and you don’t have one.”

Yeah, he was adorkable.

He scooted off the bed and slipped into a thick, blue robe while he had his back to me. Well-built, non-teen muscles covered the back of him. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, baby blue briefs hugging cheeks that would fill my hands. I sighed for wanting him to turn around and let me see the rest of him. Which was wrong, of course. Down, boy.

“I guess I should check your hand, too,” he said as he turned around, the robe’s belt and general thickness hiding his manly details. “Hand wounds freak me out.” He made a face and shuddered comically. “I’m a painter. Need my hands.”

I smiled at him, feeling a little more turned on even though it was completely inappropriate. I’d always liked artsy types. Musicians, though. Usually. Or… Well, that’s odd. I couldn’t really remember my exes. Probably not much of a loss, but still. He distracted me by digging my hand out from under the covers.

There had to be at least a yard of gauze wrapped around my palm. He really didn’t like hand wounds. After unwrapping it all, he revealed a bloodstained gauze pad still gooey with salve sitting there in my palm. The hand holding mine shook for a second as he took a new square pad from the bedside table top and threw the other away. The gash didn’t bleed, looked closed up, but was an angry red.

“I hope you don’t need stitches because I’m so not doing that.” The grossed-out face he pulled made me croak a laugh through my scratchy throat.

He squeezed a line of salve along the cut and gently pressed the new gauze square over it. Then he wrapped the whole length of gauze back around my hand and wrist. It was practically a boxing glove.

Finished, he took a deep breath and cocked his head at me. “I never told you my name, did I?” He smiled, his golden eyes sparkling. “I’m Luke Walker.” He pointed at me sternly. “Do not make any Star Wars references about the name. It’s just Walker.”

I smiled and swallowed painfully before I could whisper, “I’m Ja—”

And just like that, it was gone. Nothing. What’s my name?

I felt hot and cold at once as terror settled inside me.

“I can’t remember.”