I wake up from a horrible nightmare.

My head's pounding, my heart's racing, and I'm in a cold sweat from head to toe.

All night, it kept repeating. Everything happened just like it did at the cabin, except in my dream, the roof collapsed on my legs, and I couldn't get out. Then miraculously, those two faceless men freed me. But somehow, we got to the front porch. When he held me around my waist from behind, I felt his breath on my neck, his lips close to my ear, and his hands were trailing a path up to my breasts while the other stranger cupped my face and kissed me hard. It was incredibly hot, and I was so aroused, right up until that section of roof came down on us all, and that's the point where I wake up.

My dangerously crazy, sexy dream turned into a nightmare.

But most of it really happened.

Those men saved me. And they brought me somewhere. An infinite set of questions stream into my mind through the dull throb of pain at the back of my head.

Where am I?

Who are these men?

Whose bed did I just sleep in?

And why is the back of my head throbbing so badly?

Curious, I pull a hand out from under the covers and reach my fingertips to the back of my head. My hair feels rough, tangled and wild as I slip gentle fingers through it, and when they make it to a couple inches from the spot where the pain is radiating outward, I feel the edge of a bandage.

Oh, God.

I try to swallow the huge lump that forms in my throat as reality floods back.

The cabin.

I hit my head.

My things.

Fear makes me shiver and nerves cause a bit of bile to rise from my stomach and burn a path all the way up to my throat. I stare at nothing in particular, blinded by what must be shock as I relive waking up in my bed at the cabin. That terror-inducing fear that came over me at the sounds of the roof collapsing.

I rub my temples and my stomach goes in knots as a mental picture of the utter destruction fills my mind. Broken furniture, all my things in the living room buried under all that debris, snow falling indoors and covering everything with a thin layer of white.

My things were destroyed.

I almost died.

But then I got away. Those men saved me.

Except...my truck.

My laptop.

Oh God, my laptop!

My work!

But there's more to that, right? I should remember something, but there are only bits and pieces teasing at the edges of my memory. Opening my eyes, I suck in a raspy breath. My vision is blurred, and I have to fight the urge to close my eyes, but after taking a few deep breaths, some of the blurriness fades. My eyes try to focus again as I take in the room around me. The curtains are drawn, but beams of bright light streams in through the opening. It's so white that I'm pretty certain it's not sunlight. It must be all the snow that fell overnight and into the morning.

The bedroom's decorated with a rustic, masculine theme. It must be a guy’s room. Most of these cabins are too small to have extra rooms. I wonder where he is as more of the room's decor comes into focus.

A rich dark wooden chest of drawers stands beside the window, and there's a matching storage chest at the foot of the bed. The room is spotless. Nothing is out of place. The walls are made of whole logs just like the cabin I'm renting. To my left, the bedroom door is partway open, and to my right, a sofa sits perpendicular to me, facing the fireplace on the far wall. I raise my hand to my face to cover the yawn that escaped my mouth, and that's when I notice the shirt I have on. It's a red plaid flannel men’s shirt. Like something I imagine a lumberjack would wear. I tug the fabric above the first button on my chest and look at my body.

I'm not wearing anything underneath.

Nothing at all.

Not even panties.

Yet I don't remember changing.

Someone dressed me? And more disturbing, they undressed me?

They saw me naked?

Forcing myself to sit up, I look to my left and my right searching for any trace of something familiar. Then I see it. My set of keys. They're on the nightstand to my right. I reach for it and as I grasp it in my fist, I catch sight of the tan canvas fabric of my work bag on the floor next to the bed.

Thank God.

It brings back my memory of the conversation with one of the men. Right. He promised to go back to my cabin for these. I was so adamant, pushing him so hard. A part of me feels bad for inadvertently forcing the man to put himself in danger, but I don't regret it. If I'd lost my laptop, it would've been horrible. Catastrophic.

I'll have to thank him again when I see him next.

Who were they again?

They mentioned their names last night, but this damned headache makes it so hard to think clearly.

Making a mental note to get their names and thank them profusely for doing so much for me, a complete stranger, I shift my body sideways and slide one leg off the side of the bed. I need to find out who my heroic hosts are, get my bearings, find out how bad the cabin is fucked, and I definitely have to call the landlord.

But first, I have to turn on this laptop, double check that all my painstaking work is still there, and I absolutely must at least back up my files on a USB drive, if I can’t upload it to the cloud.

Except as my bare foot hits a plush rug on the floor, my still somewhat blurry vision picks up a movement. Red. A pattern. A shape crosses in front of the fireplace and dashes off quickly through the door.

“Hello?” I call to him then groan and wince at the pain that intensifies beneath the bandage on my head.

Was that a red plaid flannel shirt? Like the one I’m wearing? And like the one I saw at the grocery yesterday afternoon before this ordeal started?

Before my other foot lands on the floor, another movement at the door causes me to hold my breath.

“Is someone there?” I call out again. “Hello?”

The door creaks as someone slowly pushes it open. Squinting, I make an effort to look closely and the tall, fit, dark-haired man standing before me comes into focus. He's not wearing red plaid at all. I take a guess that this man is the second guy living here. He's in a white t-shirt with the words US ARMY written across the chest. His chiseled biceps and corded back muscles stretch the t-shirt sleeve almost to the limits. He wears a gray pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips, hinting at his trim waist and toned abs.

A wave of dizziness hits me, and I hardly notice my hand reaching for the bed to keep me upright. Before I know it, he’s at my side with one arm around my back to stop me from falling. His body's so warm, so hard, so strong as he supports me easily. My eyes close without my permission and I take a deep inhale. He smells so familiar, like warm, fragrant cedar mixed with a masculine, musky soap.

“You need to rest,” he says, pulling me from my distracted thinking. “We're pretty sure you have a concussion.”

“No, I'm fine.” I try to study his face, but it’s so difficult. I can't zoom in on anything without feeling like the room is spinning.

“You don't look fine. How's your head?”

“It'll be okay. I just need a minute to wake up properly. I think I'm dehydrated.” As I say the last word, my stomach turns. I don’t know if I'm hungry or nauseous. Maybe it's both.

“Get back into bed. I'll grab you a drink. Is coffee okay?”

I tilt my head up to his face, way up because he's got to be close to a solid foot taller than my five-feet-three height. And he's damn fine looking, even with my subpar vision. His ice-blue eyes stare at me from under long thick lashes. The kind we women dream of but have to settle for mascara or fake lashes to make up the difference.

But I don't care if he's imposing in height, or that he's devastatingly handsome. That’s not enough to convince me to stay in this room or here with them.

“Coffee's great, but no... I'm not getting back into bed, Mister…” I struggle to remember his name but draw a complete blank.

“It's Samuel.”

“Oh. Right. Nice to meet you and sorry for forgetting your name. I'm usually really good with names, but... this gash on my head isn't helping much.”

He tilts his head to one side and lifts an eyebrow, seeming entertained. “Don't apologize, it's fine, but those concussion symptoms will subside a whole lot faster if you'd just get some rest.”

“But I got enough sleep...last night in this bed...in...what's your friend's name again?”

“Bastian.”

“Right, in Bastian's bed. Is he mad at me?”

“Mad? No. Why would you think that?”

“I don't know... landing on him so hard when he pulled me from my porch, being the reason that he had to go back into that storm to retrieve my work bag and keys, sleeping in his bed and causing him to have to sleep on that couch...and he keeps leaving the room before I can talk to him. I’d like to say thanks.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate hearing that. He’s a bit on the shy side. A loner, you could say.”

“Well not too much of a loner, I’m guessing. He has you. And thank you, by the way. For your help. But I really should get out of your hair.”

“And go where?”

“Back to my cabin, to at least see if there’s anything I can salvage. Perhaps to my landlord’s place. Worst case scenario, I’ll just go home. My permanent apartment is down in the suburbs—” I abruptly stop speaking when hits me that I’m oversharing. He doesn’t need all this information, so I wrap it up with, “But, it’s really not your concern.”

“Have you taken a look outside yet?”

“I haven’t, but no matter how bad it is, I can't stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Well, on top of the fact that we're complete strangers, I have work to do, and I need to leave.”

“All right.” Samuel waves toward the door with his free hand. “Go ahead. Work. There's a small writing desk in the living room, and another in the greenhouse slash solarium out back. They’re not much, but if you make it out of this bedroom without passing out, you're more than welcome to use either of them. Take your pick.”

“That's really sweet of you. Really it is, but I'm better off figuring out how to solve the problem of my roof cave-in problem on my own.”

“I think you need to take a look outside before you try to leave.”

He releases the gentle hold he has at the curve of my back and takes a step away from me, waiting for me to make a move on my own. I give it my all, trying really hard to walk without showing how impossible it is for me to move without my body swaying due to this wicked vertigo. I make it to about halfway between the side of the bed and the large picture window, but feel worse than before.

If I'm not careful, I'll end up collapsing or fainting, or unintentionally crashing into something. But I pick up my step and wing it to the window, gripping the painted windowsill at the opening between the two curtain panels. I don't want to admit it, but I'm in no shape to walk, let alone drive. I just wish I can snap out of it soon.

But I catch a glimpse of brilliant, blinding light between the curtain and take a look outside. It's a gorgeous winter wonderland out there. It's not just that everything's covered in snow. It's the tremendous amount of snow. There's so much that the branches of the pine trees are all bent low to the ground from the weight.

“It stopped snowing,” I remark.

“It has, but it's quite a dumping we got.”

“True.”

“We lost cable and internet, but at least we didn't lose power.”

I turn to tell him that my four-wheeled drive will still more than make it, but my movements are too sudden. My body ends up teetering to one side, then overcompensating to make up for it. My hand reaches frantically for something, anything to stop an embarrassing tumble and I end up gripping the curtains--which go down with me, curtain rod and all.

But Samuel catches me just in time.

“You're okay,” he utters close to my ear as he scoops me up into his arms.

“That's doubtful,” I confess.

“Where should I take you...carry you?” he corrects himself.

“Fine. Put me back in Bastian's bed,” I say, accepting defeat.

We're snowed in.

I can't leave anyway. I may as well get some rest. As soon as I backup my files.