And now seemed like exactly the wrong time to be thinking about sex, except here they were, alone together. And Eban was the only man she’d ever truly desired—not counting Chris Evans in his superhero guise.

Eban came in the door, and she shivered at the blast of cold air that whipped around the living room. He closed the door quickly, locked it, toed off his boots, shrugged out of his jacket. She openly admired the broad shoulders and strong arms that filled out a tight navy sweater.

“I am starving.” He washed his hands before grabbing a slice of pizza. He consumed it in four bites and went back for another slice.

She did too, forcing herself to eat because she often forgot when working and knew she was skinny to the point of gaunt. She hadn’t used to be. Trauma affected people differently and hers had made her lose her appetite and desire for food.

“Want me to open a bottle of wine?”

“No, thanks.” She didn’t enjoy wine unless it had bubbles.

“Beer?” He went over to check the fridge. “Haley stocked up on the ones you like.”

“Sure.” Maybe it would help her unwind because, right now, she was as relaxed as concrete.

He popped the caps and brought them over. Handed her the drink as she juggled it with the pizza.

“This is good,” she said, finally letting herself enjoy the moment and not think about her own sexual inadequacies or the fact there was an unknown killer walking free amongst them, planning goodness knew what.

“Agreed. And that fire sure heats this place up fast.” He put his pizza on the box lid and pulled the sweater over his head.

She walked to the window so she didn’t blurt out anything embarrassing or drool all over him in the tight-fitting t-shirt he wore. The view outside wasn’t nearly as good as the view of Eban. A pristine frozen lake edged by a jagged row of evergreens. A few ice-fishing huts stood barely visible in the distance. No people or houses close enough to see.

The clouds were getting heavier, the wind buffeting the branches.

“It feels as if we’re all alone in the world,” she said softly. The view reminded her a little of where she’d grown up—a fly-in part of the world that was the definition of isolated. No roads, not even in winter because of the impenetrable mountains that surrounded them and cut them off from the world. She preferred this illusion of isolation without the sometimes-overwhelming reality of what actual isolation meant.

If something happened, if someone got hurt or something broke, you had to fix it yourself, or call in a pilot to deliver parts or help you needed. Sometimes it wasn’t fast enough to save someone you loved.

Her mother—whose surname before she’d gotten married had been Darby—had died because they lived too far from a hospital when her appendix had ruptured. Darby clearly remembered the day it happened. She’d been twelve. Her mother had developed a pain in her side that no over-the-counter medications could touch. Her dad had jumped on the radio to call for emergency help. The nerve-wracking wait for the medivac helicopter to arrive and their frantic race to try to save her mom’s life.