“My apologies.” The man cleared his throat politely and Julien tore his gaze back up, embarrassed. “I’m not up to date on the proper etiquette for interrupting a thief. It seems an invitation to bed only terrifies one half to death. How disappointing for the ego.” He squinted at Julien critically. “To be fair, a keen-eyed observer might argue you looked about three-quarters of the way there on your own. To death, that is, not to bed.”

Julien gaped, unsure what to feel more offended by first. At least the critics had the heart to call him names behind his back. “I’m not a thief,” he said finally, because it wasn’t a crime to look old and worn-out quite yet.

“A housebreaker, then,” the man said, inspecting one of his own fingernails with a bored expression. “An interloper. Persona non grata, though admittedly you look very grata indeed from this angle.”

Julien felt warmth spread down his defrosting body and he quickly pulled himself to standing. The bruise across his chest throbbed and he had to bite back a grunt of pain—unsuccessfully it seemed, from the way the man’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. “I’m sorry,” Julien said, cutting off the potential for any more biting comments on his advancing proximity to death’s door. “I didn’t mean to trespass. I was under the impression that this was a hotel.”

The man ran his hand over the wood of the desk with a thoughtful expression. “Is this the impression you were under? See, I would have called it a desk, myself, but then I’m a simple, straightforward sort of soul. What you see is what you get.”

“Well, I can see quite a bit,” Julien muttered under his breath and to his surprise the man grinned and just leaned back against the wall, causing the robe to slip even higher up his legs.

“And what exactly were you hoping to get all the way down there?” He seemed totally untroubled to be practically naked in front of a stranger. Maybe soaking wet, half-frozen and three-quarters of the way to death, Julien didn’t look very intimidating. Maybe the man felt physically secure with his younger body and thick, powerful-looking thighs.

The tingling on Julien’s scalp where the man had touched him intensified and he dragged an impatient hand through his hair. “I was looking for an outlet to charge my phone.”

“But of course you were. I’ve been known to get on my hands and knees for the sake of an outlet myself. Carry on, Raffles.” The man tilted his head to the side, studying Julien in a lazy, knowing sort of way. “Unless you need someone to play Bunny?” It was the sort of over-the-top flirting men did when they were utterly certain it wouldn’t go anywhere. Teasing and unserious with no genuine interest. Meant to fluster and nothing else.

“I said I’m not a thief,” Julien said tightly, suddenly feeling as weary and washed-up as he apparently looked. The crash must be catching up with him. “I’m sorry; it’s been a hell of a long day.” He thrust his hand out, then quickly retreated when the man simply regarded it with a single raised eyebrow. Fair enough. “My name’s Julien. I’m on my way to the ski lodge, but had an accident a little ways up the road. My phone’s dead so I hiked down this way and saw the sign and, well, yes, I let myself in and helped myself to the power. I’m sorry if I surprised you or made you uncomfortable at all.” He could hardly say it with a straight face. The man didn’t look like he knew the meaning of the word discomfort. “Are you a, uh, guest here? Owner?”