Huge snowflakes drifted down around Jim “Dutch” Dutcher in a winter-wonderland scene, and the boughs of the pine trees passing below him sagged under a heavy blanket of white. Neon-garbed skiers whooshed past, laughing, but up here on the ski lift, all was silent. Peaceful. Bucolic. And his palms positively ached with a need to kill the woman he was here to meet.

By what fucking right did she call him out of the blue asking for a secret meeting? After all these years? Did she seriously think she could waltz back into his life without deadly repercussions? Her sheer chutzpah was the main reason he’d agreed to meet her at all. That, and his ragingly unprofessional desire to make her pay were why he’d kept this little reunion completely to himself.

Julia Ferrare had to be certifiably insane to have made that call to his cell phone. How in the hell did she get the number, anyway? The only people who had it were his teammates and the command-post controllers for the Blackjacks, the elite and highly classified Special Forces team he was part of.

This whole meeting stunk to high heaven of a setup. She’d insisted he come to her at a popular ski resort in Colorado. He, in turn, insisted she meet him here at the top of this ski mountain and to lose her bodyguards before she came.

He leaned back in the lift chair, scowling. Tension coiled tightly across the back of his neck. Fortunately, the resort was relatively empty in spite of the heavy early-season snows. The big holiday rush of skiers wouldn’t hit for another couple of days. That was good because he didn’t exactly deal well with crowds when he was in this frame of mind. His hair-trigger reflexes, trained to kill and maim, were pegged in the red zone.

The low rumble of a motor became audible, and the overhead cable disappeared into a gear house fifty yards or so ahead. He slipped the wrist straps of his ski poles over his hands. Where was she? She said she’d meet him up here. He’d been down it twice, and there was still no sign of her or the trap she was baiting him into. Fine. He’d ski down the damn hill again.

He sure as hell wished he could remember what she looked like.

Reluctantly, he prodded at the black maw that gaped in his memory of that steamy summer nearly a decade ago, but nothing emerged from the void. The details of whatever’d happened that hot July in the jungle had ceased to matter to him for the most part. The fact remained that his brother, Simon, was dead, and Julia Ferrare was the cause of it. The details were irrelevant, and she was untouchable, the daughter of an international crime lord with the resources to keep the law far, far away from her. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

And he’d made his peace with doing just that until a phone call came in minutes before he was supposed to walk down the aisle of a church and watch his boss and best friend get married…and a voice from his past asked to see him right away without involving the other members of the Blackjacks.

The shock of recognizing her voice still roiled through him. As soon as he’d heard the husky, sexy, faintly Spanish accented-tones, he’d known. It was her. How he’d known, where the memory had come from, buried deep in his subconscious, he didn’t know. But it was Julia. No doubt about it.

As his lift chair swung over the snow-covered platform, he aligned his skis in its icy ruts and stood up. The chair shoved the back of his knees, sending him down the ramp to the snow. The sleek glide of it beneath his feet sent a reluctant ripple of pleasure through him. He’d always loved the headlong rush of skiing. The speed. The freedom. Anticipation filled him. Of rushing wind. Of the sting of snow in his face.

And then he saw her.

Maybe ten yards ahead of him. Stunningly beautiful. Raven-haired with dark, hot eyes. Her cheeks were rosy with cold, but her skin glowed with the warm, golden tones of a tropical beach. Lush lips. Beauty queen perfection. He stopped and stared as everything around him blurred and faded to gray. His vision narrowed down to a silvery tunnel, her face shining like a beacon at the other end. Something cracked around his heart, like huge chunks of ice calving from the face of a glacier. He all but heard the sound of it crashing down as a barrier of some sort shattered in his chest. Or maybe in his brain.

His gaze locked upon Julia Ferrare. How could he ever have forgotten that spectacular face? He prickled all over. His hands and feet went numb. It felt as if he was disconnecting from his own flesh. It felt damned strange, in fact.

And then darkness raced toward him, a towering wall that broke over him with tsunami force, sweeping him completely away from himself. He couldn’t tell if he was flying toward something or away from it. The only sensation that registered was one of drowning panic. And her beautiful face. Always that beautiful face swimming in front of his eyes, beckoning and goading him into the abyss.

Time and space had no meaning in his blackout. Only the deep, cold blackness embracing him was real. He drifted, disembodied, in the void. What in the bloody hell was happening? The darkness changed, abruptly suffocating him. Tangling itself around him like an unwanted blanket. He battled it back, clawing against its confines toward consciousness, tearing it away with a great mental heave.

He blinked, disoriented at the white landscape whizzing by at high speed. Where was he? He sure as shootin’ wasn’t at the top of the mountain anymore. An icy ski run fell away before him like a bloody cliff. The professional downhill run! Wind clawed at him as if it would rip the flesh from his bones. He must be going close to sixty miles per hour. How in the world had he gotten here? Oh crraapp…

He launched into space, flung off the side of the mountain by a huge mogul. He windmilled his arms furiously, fighting with all his considerable strength to stay upright and drag his feet beneath him as he soared down the steep mountainside. He slammed onto the snow once more, his knees smashing into his ribs like twin jackhammers, driving every last ounce of oxygen from his chest.

He gasped for air and by some miracle managed not to fall. The ski run jinked to the right just ahead and he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of making the turn. He shot off the run and his ski tips plowed into a deep snow bank. Their abrupt halt sent him airborne, cartwheeling high through the air. Straight toward a wall of orange crash fencing. Headfirst. He didn’t even have time to curse as he tucked his shoulder and pulled off a partial midair flip.

He took the fence squarely in the back. And landed sprawled in the snow, what little wind he had knocked clean out of him. He gasped like a fish flopping on a dock. For many long seconds, his lungs refused to cooperate. Finally, he managed to suck in a short breath. And another. Then the pain hit him. Like a train wreck. Jesus H. Christ, he hurt all over. He knew better than to move after a crash like that. He lay still in the same tangle he’d landed in.

“Can you hear me?” It was a male voice from off to his left. “Are you injured?”

He peered up at a White Cross on a red vinyl vest. Ski Patrol. “I hear you. Dunno how messed up I am,” he managed to grind out. “Hurts like hell if that counts for anything.”

The guy grunted in commiseration. “That was an awesome fall you took. We already called for a medic. He’s on his way.”

Dutch closed his eyes as the cold from the deep snow he lay half buried in seeped into his body. At least it numbed some of the pain crunching through his bones. What in the hell had just happened to him? With one exception, he’d never blacked out before. And that other time had also been related to the Ferrares. He was told that a drinking binge after the ambush that killed Simon had landed him in the hospital and erased a solid month from his memory.

Guys in his line of work who lost consciousness without a damn good reason lost their jobs, oh, instantly. And that would be why he’d never told a living soul that he had no recollection of the op involving Julia, the op that killed his brother. Thankfully, his teammates respected his silence regarding the mission and never brought it up.

Why another blackout now? Another ski patroller showed up and knelt down, running his hands over Dutch’s limbs. The guy’s movements were efficient, competent. Dutch went limp and let the medic carefully straighten his arms and legs out of their awkward positions.

The guy rocked back on his heels after poking Dutch’s gut and checking his pupils with a little flashlight. “I don’t know how you did it, but you seem to have no serious injuries. You must be in killer condition to have hit the fence like that without breaking something.”

The guy didn’t know the half of his killer conditioning. Dutch did, in fact, stay in good enough condition to kill. He planned to do that very thing today, as a matter of fact. A movement caught his attention beyond the ring of ski patrollers. A flash of black hair and golden skin.

His heart pounded abruptly. Her again. Even garbed in pale blue ski overalls and a bulky denim jacket, she had a body that made dirty thoughts run through a guy’s mind. He noted the way the thick, dark lashes fringing her eyes flickered apprehensively. The anxious way she bit her juicy lower lip.

She had good cause to be nervous. Rage flooded through him, visceral, white hot. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to make her pay for what happened to his baby brother.

As their gazes locked, she froze, still and frightened like a hunted doe. His vision began to tunnel down again and he ripped his gaze away from her as she staggered backward.

How was she robbing him of consciousness like this? A chill chattered down his spine. He’d be kicked out of the Blackjacks so fast it would make his head spin if his boss found out about this inexplicable tendency to blackout at the sight of a woman. Nobody wanted an armed Special Forces soldier checking out for la-la land at a crucial moment in a mission.

The Ferrare woman took a step toward him. Her expression indicated she had something urgent to tell him. She opened her mouth. And then a pair of men moved into his line of vision, skiing horizontally across the hill toward a less challenging slope. Nothing struck him as unusual about them, but panic flared in Julia’s eyes. She nodded at him fractionally, a single subtle dip of her chin.

Now, what the hell was that supposed to mean?

She turned, took a couple awkward steps, and pushed off quickly down the slope. Fleeing. Good call. Except for all the world it looked as if she was running not from him but from that pair of men. She would learn the error in her thinking soon enough. His gaze narrowed as he stared at her retreating back.

The wall of darkness roared forward again. He blinked his eyes hard and shook his head to clear it. Pain shot across his shoulders and up his neck. Ow! Damn, that hurt. Note to self: no abrupt head movements. It was a tough-won victory, but he fought back the encroaching blackout by main force of will. In its wake, a single question burned across his brain like a comet in the night sky.

Why did Julia Ferrare want to meet him badly enough to risk her life like this?

He clambered to his feet, determined to follow her. But the medic detained him, insisting on testing his balance before he’d clear Dutch to ski again. He impatiently assured the guy that he was fine.

Ignoring the queasy sensation rumbling in his gut, he stepped into his ski bindings and pushed back out onto the run. He crested a mogul and stopped sharply. The bottom of the mountain lay in gorgeous panorama at his feet. He searched it for a woman in blue. There. A slender outline. Below him on the downhill run, making careful S-curves back and forth across the course to keep her speed down.

Something else caught his eye as he scanned the mountain. A half-dozen skiers arrayed in a large, perfect starburst, all moving in arrow-straight lines, all converging purposefully on something. Or someone. He checked the center of their loose formation. Julia! What were the odds that was a chance occurrence? He looked more closely. Two of the skiers looked like the same ones who’d cut across the downhill run and panicked her.

He let rip with a foul curse and plunged off the mogul, gathering speed. Given how afraid she’d been when she’d looked at him just now, it was obvious she was in some sort of trouble. He had to get to her before those men did. Talk to her. Find out what she wanted from him. Find out why the sight of her did such weird things to his head. Then, he’d make her pay.

His speed continued to build, and he couldn’t spare any more brainpower for questions. All his attention riveted on the deadly slope falling away before him. He didn’t even want to think about how much another crash would hurt. The ski lodge came into view, and with it a chilling sight. Julia stood directly in front of the huge log structure, and the ring of men was almost on her.

Dutch crouched in a racer’s tuck and flew toward her. Other skiers squawked in protest as he blasted by them. He zoomed past one of her pursuers and caught a brief glimpse of a cap and goggles obscuring the guy’s face. Not that he could have gotten much of a look, anyway, at the speed he was traveling.

He aimed his skis straight at her where she bent down to unfasten her bindings. He screeched to a halt, pelting her with snow. She jumped and spun to face him. Her eyes went wide with shock. He hit the quick releases on his boots with the tips of his poles and jumped out of his skis, not bothering to pick them up. He grabbed her arm. “Come on,” he growled.

Although he was a big, powerful man, he rarely took advantage of his strength to overpower anyone. But there was no time for explanations. He half lifted her off the ground and dragged her along with him. He bit out the words, “A bunch of guys are closing in on you. They’re right behind us. Let’s go.”

She clumped along awkwardly beside him in her ski boots. “Where to?” she gasped as they raced into the crowded lobby of the lodge.

He looked around fast. They would never make it out of here before their pursuers arrived. “This way,” he ordered tersely.

They darted toward a coatroom beside the main restaurant. He pushed past a startled attendant and pulled Julia into the small room, out of sight of the lobby. He wedged her deep into the packed rows of coats, shielding her body protectively with his own. Awareness of her screamed through him like a banshee. She smelled like cinnamon. Her hair was silky against his cheek; her lithe body hummed with tension. The bulky layers of clothing between them did little to dampen the way his male instincts roared to life.

She looked up at him, fear raging in her huge eyes. “Now what?” she whispered.

His head swam, and he fought off a sick, drowning feeling. The swirling sensation in his skull intensified. He braced his hands on the wall behind her head, his outspread arms caging her against him. The room spun, and a wild cacophony of color assaulted his eyes as the racks of ski jackets twirled like a carousel.

“Are you all right?” she murmured in concern. Her voice was soft and throaty and felt like sex on his skin.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” he mumbled.

“That was a terrible fall you took up on the mountain. Did you hit your head, maybe give yourself a concussion?”

As if she actually cared. He replied dryly, “I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I have an exceptionally thick skull.”

Her eyes sparkled with humor for a moment. Their gazes met. Something zinged between them. Something hot and wild, and more than the physical attraction hanging thick between them. The humor faded from her eyes as they stared at each other.

A female voice from behind spun him around and sent him reaching reflexively for the pistol in the quick draw holster under his left arm.

“Hey. What are you doing in here?”

He straightened from the defensive half crouch he’d fallen into and answered dryly, “Hiding, of course. The lady’s ex is a freaking psychopath. He sent goons after us. Any chance you could check the lobby and see if they’re gone?” He described the men as best he could.

“Sure,” the college-age girl replied. She disappeared, and was gone for several long minutes before she poked her head in the coat room once more. “All clear,” she announced.

He peered over the attendant’s shoulder into the main lobby. Based on the consternation on the faces of most of the people in the lobby and the directions of their gazes, he surmised that Julia’s tails had shoved their way through the crowd less than politely. Based on where the bystanders were looking, he guessed that a couple of the men went back outside, one headed into the bar, and the rest headed down the hallways to his right.

He didn’t have to look back to feel Julia peering over his shoulder. Her exotic, spicy scent swirled around him like an opium haze. “Take off your boots,” he ordered. “We’ve got to move fast and quiet.” He took his off as well, and handed over both pairs to the attendant. “I’ll come back later to collect those. And I’ll give you a gigantic tip if you don’t mention seeing us to anyone.”

The coed grinned. “No problem. I’m always happy to help out a pair of lovebirds.”

He grabbed Julia’s hand. What in the hell was that electric sensation that shot up his arm and down his spine?

He chose one of the two hallways heading deeper into the ski resort that one of the thugs chasing her probably hadn’t gone down, and as soon as they cleared the crowded main area, he took off running. He saw a sign ahead, and smiled grimly. Perfect. “This way. C’mon.”

She started to protest, but he overrode her objections with his superior strength. They ducked into the women’s locker room. “They won’t look for us in here right away,” he said over his shoulder.

A couple of half-dressed women uttered startled protests. Julia apologized to them as he dragged her toward a row of private steam rooms. He opened the door of one and peered inside. “Anybody in here?” he asked.

No answer. He stepped in with her and closed the door behind them. The sauna’s dimness enveloped them. Much better. Being out in the open like a sitting duck made him way jumpy.

“If they find us here, we’re toast,” she pointed out nervously. “There’s nowhere to run.” She turned and nearly bumped into him. Her sexy scent wafted around him again. Damn, that perfume was practically a lethal weapon.

He smiled with cool anticipation and murmured, “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. We’re far from toast. Trust me.”

For just a second, she swayed toward him. Didn’t she know he was here to kill her? Except why was his subconscious straying toward doing something entirely different with her? His gut blazed as the subliminal urge to have hot monkey sex with her became a conscious thought. His loins surged so powerfully it almost drove him to his knees.

She edged back a few inches and looked up at him. “I know better than to trust you,” she replied breathlessly.

He stared at her evenly. It would be so easy to put his hands around her neck and strangle her. Or snap her neck with a quick twist of his wrists. Or pull her body against his, strip off her clothes and savor the sweaty slide of flesh on flesh. An urge to overpower her, to ravish her the way his Viking ancestors would have, broadsided him. The impulse startled him back to reality.

He demanded grimly, “What do you want from me?”

Caution ringed her dark gaze. “This isn’t the time or place to talk about it.”

“Honey, this is the only chance you get. Start talking.”

She wiped away a trickle of sweat from her temple. “Let’s get out of these heavy ski clothes before we both pass out.”

Stalling, was she? Okay. He’d play along for a few seconds. He took off his coat and bent down to strip off his ski pants. And came face-to-face with her chest. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

They fumbled around each other in the tight space, trying to disrobe politely. Their elbows bumped, and then she all but fell into him.

“Tell you what,” he suggested, “you go first.”

He tried to tuck himself out of the way, but there was just nowhere for his big body to go in the tiny sauna. He lifted his arms over his head while she squirmed out of her clothes, bumping into his body several times with her chest or tush. Was she trying to provoke him?

She kept bumping against him awkwardly until he finally growled, “Just lean against me. I won’t bite you.”

But the idea was damned tempting when her rear end snuggled against his groin a second later as she bent down to pull off her ski pants. Oh, she did that on purpose, the vixen. And then she shimmied out of her tropical yellow and orange ski sweater. In the moment when her face was hidden in its folds, he allowed himself to glance down. Big mistake.

She wore a close-fitting, white silk turtleneck beneath the sweater, and nothing else. It clung to her like a wet T-shirt. Her breasts were small and delicately formed. Atop the gentle swells, a rosy hint of her nipples was visible. Blood rushed in his ears, making a beeline for the other end of his body where his flesh throbbed and hardened to the density of the rocks in the steamer beside him.

His gaze drifted lower. She wore fire-engine-red leggings that hugged her like a second skin. Hoo baby. Her thigh muscles were long and lean. They would grip a guy’s waist like steel while he rode her… Stop that! He yanked his gaze away from her knockout body.

She emerged from the sweater and gazed at him expectantly. His turn. Crud. His Lycra briefs weren’t nearly tight enough to hide his reaction to her. Ah well, it was either give away his state of arousal or pass out from the heat. He stripped off his sweater and turtleneck, baring his naked chest. A distinct advantage to being a guy in a situation like this. Then he peeled off his ski pants. Her gaze went straight to the bulge in his shorts. He watched in grim amusement as red stained her cheeks.

The dry air burned his lungs. He turned away sharply and ladled water from a bucket onto the bed of rocks. The water hissed as it struck baking stone. He kept at it until a thick cloud of steam swirled around their heads. Better. No one would be able to see through the condensation that had collected on the little window, and even better, they wouldn’t have to look directly into each other’s eyes.

She lifted her long, silky hair up off her neck. The movement thrust her breasts out until they all but begged him to take them into his mouth. His lust roared like a Harley with the throttle wide open. Mesmerized, he reached out with a fingertip and caught a drop of moisture that rolled down the side of her exquisite face. She gazed at him wordlessly, her lips parted, her breathing light and fast. Why did this feel so fucking familiar?

A movement outside the tiny window of the steam-room door caught his eye. A dark silhouette drawing near the glass to peer inside. Damn, these guys were fast. And thorough. He grabbed Julia and yanked her down to the floor. He landed on top of her, his elbows braced on either side of her to take his weight. That blasted silk shirt of hers caressed his chest until he thought he was going to embarrass himself on the spot.

He tried to think about something else, but all that filled his mind was the way her belly cushioned his, the way her thighs cupped his throbbing hardness. A need to be inside her, to feel her wet, tight heat around his flesh, to pump away mindlessly until they both came apart nearly overcame him. It was an act of sheer, desperate will to keep his hips from grinding against hers. He clenched his jaw and held his body perfectly still.

He wasn’t particularly worried about her pursuers. With Dutch’s size, strength and training, there weren’t too many people he couldn’t take out with his bare hands. But he’d rather avoid a fight until he and Julia talked.

What little light came through the window went dim as somebody peered inside the sauna. Don’t move, he tried to telegraph silently to her. He let his body sink into hers by fractional degrees, using his weight to hold her still. Ah, sweet God, that felt good. He prayed she wouldn’t wriggle. He was so close to the edge of an orgasm that he would explode if she even breathed deeply. He fought like a drowning man for control as long seconds ticked by.

Finally, the dark shape above their heads eased away. A shaft of weak light penetrated the steam again. He did a careful push-up, easing himself off her luscious body. Her eyes were huge and dark as she stared up at him. She looked like a virgin who’d just been deflowered. Hell, that had been about as close as two people could come to sex without doing the deed.

“Get dressed,” he growled. “It’s time to go.”

“Why not stay put?” she asked breathlessly. “They’ve already looked here.”

Other than the fact that if he stayed here much longer he was going to tear off her remaining clothes and finish what he’d started in his head with her?

He cleared his throat. “We’d pass out from dehydration and heat exhaustion eventually. Plus, they’ll be back. Next time, their search will be more thorough.”

She pulled her sweater and ski pants on over her damp undergarments while he did the same. He wiped away the condensation from the tiny glass window and peered outside before he nodded to her.

“Where to next?” she murmured.

“My car. We’re getting out of here.”

“And going where?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” he asked her darkly.

She answered cautiously, “I’m not going anywhere with you until we talk!”

He whipped his head around to stare narrowly at her. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

She frowned and opened her mouth, but he stepped out into the locker room before she could argue any more. Being on the move and vulnerable should effectively silence her. Nonetheless, he took her hand lest she try to bolt.

He murmured, “Let’s go.”

She didn’t budge. He tugged on her hand and she dug in her heels stubbornly.

He turned to face her. Women could be such a pain in the butt. He murmured darkly, “Believe me. I can’t wait to hear what you have to say to me. I’m trying to get somewhere safe so we can have a little conversation.”

She frowned, but the pull against his hand abated.

Much better. He ducked down one long hallway of hotel rooms after another. Good thing he’d memorized a floor plan of the place before he’d hit the slopes.

He stopped abruptly. “Let me know if anybody comes into sight,” he muttered.

He fished a plastic keycard out of his pocket and shoved it into the lock. With a last look both ways, he pushed her quickly into his room. As he slipped in behind her, he glimpsed a dark shape just turning into the hallway. He closed the door quickly and pressed his ear against the wood. Two pairs of ski boots thumped past at an awkwardly fast clip. The noise faded. He took a deep breath and turned around.

She stood in the middle of his suite, more beautiful than any one woman ought to be. Her chest heaved and her eyes snapped with a fire he could lose himself in forever. He stepped forward into the sunken living room, suddenly aware of a chill across his skin.

But then a flurry of movement caught his attention, jumping at him from the direction of the bedroom. He spun to face this new threat, but he was too late. He’d let Julia’s beauty distract him.

He had just enough time to mutter a disgusted curse at himself before something hard slammed into the back of his head. He grabbed for the coffee table that careened into view beside him, but his head slammed into the edge of it. He had no strength to hold back the vast ocean of darkness as unconsciousness consumed him. Julia lurched toward him with her hands outstretched as he fell to the floor.

He fought the drowning loss of self and reached out for her, but her blurry image slipped through his fingers like water. “Help me,” he whispered.

And then everything went black.