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The holidays can be murder. Someone is out to kill Michaela Winters, but she has more important things to worry about, arguing with her husband and when to tell him he’s going to be a father come to mind.
Brockridge Logan realizes the mistake he’s made and he’s willing to make amends. His solution is to whisk her away to their cabin up north where he can seduce and keep her safe.
When an ice storm closes the roads and traps them in the middle of nowhere for the duration of the holidays. A marriage will be mended, but will it be too late with a killer on the loose.
Wind whipped through the icy gloom, threatening to rip away her husband’s dangling form from Michaela’s desperate grip. Beneath her, the aging balcony she lay on shuddered and groaned. Bitter cold from the steel floor seeped into her clothes as if she wore nothing at all. It tilted forward, and a shriek escaped. Frigid cold metal bit into her skin as she was wedged against the railing. Arctic air blowing off the frozen lake, slapped at her face and stung her eyes. She tightened her hold on his jacket. Her back and shoulders burned, straining with effort.
The supports gave another ominous creak and the balcony bounced lower. She clutched handfuls of his clothing, uncaring that her fingers were raw and numb with cold. All that mattered was dragging her husband the few scant millimeters until he could grasp one of the iron spindles.
“Let go.” Quiet command filled his shouted words.
She stared into honey-brown eyes, read acceptance and love. He’d do anything to protect her. Well screw that, she wasn’t letting him go just so she could spend the rest of her life a widow. “Shut up.”
Despite the situation, he chuckled. He reached for the metal bar, his fingertips just grazing the rod. Hope surged. Just a little farther and he could pull up the rest of the way. She renewed her efforts, grunting as she inched backward with her toes. Her arms and shoulders quivered with the effort of holding him, but she held on. Giving up was not an option.
Footsteps pounded in the concrete tunnel behind her. Michaela stiffened and turned her head. Oh god. She glanced at her husband, then to the gun she’d abandoned earlier. It lay on the ground lodged against cement lip joining the bars to the balcony base just out of reach.
“Get out of here.”
“Not without you, Logan.”
The structure lurched forward. Her weapon scraped closer.
The only way to protect them both would be to let him go, at least with one hand. She twisted his clothes tighter in one and reached for her gun with the other.
A shadow fell across the wall. Michaela stretched. Her little finger just touched the butt of her weapon. The clothing went slack in her grip. Heart pounding, she glanced at Logan. He had one hand curled around the metal bar, but he wasn’t out of danger yet.
Black boots appeared in the doorway. She grasped the gun with two fingers then dragged it until the weight rested in her palm, aimed at the newcomer and squeezed the trigger.
I’m giving away a pretty necklace and chocolate. All you have to do is leave comment. Until next time, Indulge Your Inner Romantic.
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