Speaking of which.
Royce checked right and—thank God—found the SUV at a stop in a puffy snowbank, the horn silent at last. The driver? Already climbing out from behind the wheel. Apparently unscathed.
And not as wiry as he’d originally thought. She was petite, alright, but with just the right kind of curves showcased in ski pants and a parka cinched at the waist.
A cute-as-hell—but still unwelcome—vision.
Now that the bear was gone, suspicion burned more than the frostbite threatening his face. Royce had to wonder. What was this woman doing out here in the middle of nowhere?
And what did she want with him?
* * *
Naomi Steele resented playing the wilting flower for any man.
She’d been born in Alaska, was a quarter Inuit on her dead mother’s side. Growing up, she and her sisters had learned about survival in her harsh and magnificent home state right alongside her brothers. She could have handled the bear on her own with the flare gun in her survival kit.
But letting Royce Miller save her offered a golden opportunity to slide under the man’s radar.
Shading her eyes against the fast-setting sun, Naomi watched the ornery grizzly hike back into the woods and out of sight. She turned slowly, careful to give her boots traction on the snow.
And...whoa, sexy snowman.
She’d seen press releases about Royce Miller during her internet search. She’d even sat in on one of his lectures a month ago, knew about his work from her background check on him prior to driving to his remote getaway. But no portfolio full of head shots, data or even back row auditorium viewing could have prepared her for his up close charisma. He was so much more than broodingly handsome good looks. The appeal was more than his leanly muscle-bound body on display in that open parka. And yeah, he got bonus points for the thick dark hair a hint too long like he’d forgotten to get a haircut, tousled like he’d just gotten out of bed.
All enticing. Sure.
But it was his eyes that held her. Those windows to the soul. To the man. A man with laser-sharp intelligence in his deep brown gaze that pierced straight to the core of her and seemed to say, Bring it, woman. I can keep up.
Raw sexual attraction crackled so hot in the air she half expected icicles to start melting off the trees.
Normally, she would have welcomed the draw, the challenge. But talk about poor timing. She needed to focus on her mission to wrangle a way to use that brilliant mind of his for her family’s company.
And she happened to be two months pregnant. Those teenage years fighting cancer had seemed surreal at times, but she’d frozen some of her eggs before treatment, just in case. Her oncology specialist had called on a counselor to help her through so many decisions during that frightening experience.
Now she was ready to be a mother. She was through waiting around for a mythical Mr. Perfect. She’d started this journey with her career as a lawyer and her connections to her family as a solid foundation, but she’d since had her world turned upside down. With her father’s engagement and the two rival companies merging, everyone was fighting for a place. And just as she had when she was a child, she needed to prove her place. For her child. For her sister who’d died. She blinked back tears.
Pregnancy hormones.
Of course. That must be the explanation for her off-the-charts reaction to a total stranger.
That stud muffin stranger adjusted his hold on the shotgun. “Let’s get inside to talk before the bear comes back—or we’re buried in a snowdrift.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Another second staring at him and she could well have drool freeze to her face. She needed a level head to stay one step ahead of him. Royce wasn’t just smart. He was genius smart—and eccentric.
Locating the recluse at all had taken Herculean detective work, employing the best of the best private investigators she’d used in her legal practice.
Detectives known for their discretion.
If the search gained her access to his pipeline research, it would be worth every penny. If she could somehow accomplish the unimaginable and persuade this lone ranger researcher to sign on with her family’s oil company, well, that coup would be worth more than any amount of money.
She would finally win her family’s full approval by contributing more than her legal advice to the business. She needed this for herself and for her child, a stable future. Strategy mattered more.
Royce opened the door to the glass igloo—and a beast of another kind came bounding out. A huge Saint Bernard leaned into him, sniffing, taking in all the surroundings. The air was heavy with scents of pine, the lingering smell of the spent flare gun still carried on the blizzard breeze.
“Tessie,” Royce commanded in a soft rumble, “inside, girl.”
Panting, the Saint Bernard shifted away from the front stoop and let them enter.
Bracing a hand against the door frame for balance, Naomi glanced around the space and found it much like ones her family had vacationed in over the years. God, those were amazing memories, a time before her mother and sister had died in a plane crash. Before Naomi had gotten cancer. A time she’d innocently thought could last forever. But those times had ended prematurely, like a short Alaskan day.
She looked upward, tipping her face toward the sun’s rays. The igloo’s glass dome let in the last beams of light. Only one wall was opaque, a wall with a platform bed against it, and almost certainly the bathroom and closet tucked cubicle-style behind.
Half the room had a long, curved sofa along the glass. Tessie had taken up residence on the couch, watching Naomi and Royce with wide brown eyes. The rest of the room held a kitchenette and dining table that was currently being used as a computer desk. No doubt, the keys to his research kingdom were inside that computer. Not that she expected him to have anything less than the best security.
“So?”
Royce Miller’s voice pulled her back around.
“Yes, well...” She searched for the right words. She’d spent so much time figuring out how to find him and get here, she hadn’t given much thought to being here. With him. Alone. “Thank you so much for saving my life.”
He unloaded the shotgun with a swift efficiency that shouted his Texas upbringing, and pocketed the ammo. “What in the hell coerced you to venture out in this storm?”
“Whoa, hostility check, big guy. Is that any way to speak to the person who brought your supplies?” she asked with the charm that had won over dozens of tough-as-nails juries. “Without my trek up here, you could have starved, not to mention run out of deodorant.”
“Supplies?” He eyed her warily, shrugging out of his parka and shaking the snow onto the doormat.
He made flannel look good.
But she ignored that and kept talking. “Yes, that’s what I said. You have contracted a delivery service for your supplies while you’re isolated
