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She crashed into my mountain during a blizzard.
Now she's stuck in my cabin. In my bed. In my blood.
Tessa talks too much. Wears yoga pants like a weapon. And tests my patience with every breath she takes.
I've spent three years alone for a reason.
Then she showed up -- freezing, furious, and goddamn perfect.
I keep telling myself it's temporary. That I don't care what she looks like sleeping in my flannel. That I don't feel a thing when she moans my name in the dark.
I lied.
Because now the storm's over, and she's packing her bags.
And I'm one word away from locking the door and making her mine -- for good.
It's cold on this mountain. But we're about to make it so hot it'll make the firewood jealous.
Read on for grumpy mountain men, forced proximity, size gap, snowstorm survival love, and a veteran who's quiet everywhere except the bedroom. HEA Guaranteed!
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