Chill by Stephanie Rowe Page A

Cautiously, she slipped her arms around his neck and locked her feet together behind his back, still holding herself stiffly so her breasts didn’t touch his chest. “Where are we going?”
    “I haven’t decided yet.” Luke anchored his hands beneath her bottom and began to stride out through the forest. His grip was secure and his step was steady and direct. Despite his claim, she sensed he knew exactly where he was going and what he was planning.
    It felt good to be taken care of.
    Until he ditched her. Unless she could convince him to take her money, there was nothing keeping him around to assist her. “Luke,” she said. “I—”
    “I’m not taking money.”
    “But—”
    He squeezed her to silence her. “I’m not getting involved in anything relating to Marcus Fie.” His voice was cold and hard. “I’m going to get you safely out of Alaska, and that’s where it ends. I don’t want money.”
    It was getting difficult to hold herself away from him, and she cautiously let herself relax against his chest. The heat from his body warmed her, and she closed her eyes. “I appreciate that, but getting me out of Alaska won’t make me safe.”
    He said nothing, but his grip tightened.
    “Your dad—”
    “He’s not my father.”
    She nestled her face into the curve of his neck. The gentle sway as he walked was soothing, and she could almost imagine she was somewhere safe, in the arms of someone who actually loved her, who would never leave. “Fine,” she mumbled. “Marcus, then. He’s—”
    “He’s irrelevant.” Luke shifted his grip on her, tucking her even more tightly against him. Creating a cocoon of warmth and safety. She hadn’t felt safe since she’d left Marcus’s party three days ago. Hadn’t relaxed. Had barely slept.
    But in Luke’s arms…he was keeping an eye out for her. She could rest, for just a few minutes. She should rest. Take advantage of the moment.
    “Why?” she mumbled, too exhausted to keep her head up any longer.
    He moved his head, and his cheek brushed her hair. “Why what?”
    “If you hate Marcus so much, why are you helping me?”
    It had been so long since Luke had held a woman.
    And it felt so damn good.
    “Luke?” Isabella’s breath teased his neck. It was warm and gentle, a seductive tease across his skin. “Why are you helping me right now?”
    Luke ground his jaw at the question. A part of him didn’t want to tell her about how truly bad Marcus was. He could already tell she held an affection for the bastard, and on some level, he felt like a jerk stripping her of that belief. Isabella Kopas was clearly tough and a survivor, but at the same time, the way she was huddled against him made her seem so vulnerable. He wanted to protect her, not shred her world with a truth he sensed would rock her. He could feel the heat from the fever burning up her skin, and her body was shaking against his. And a bullet wound…Jesus.
    The moment he’d seen her injury and realized what it was, he’d known he was in. Regardless of whether Isabella had invited this fate by aligning herself with Marcus, he was simply incapable of walking away from a woman who was endangered by Marcus.
    “Why do you hate him?” Her question was muffled against his neck. “He’s a good man.”
    Luke closed his eyes for a second at her tone. He could hear the genuineness of her statement. She really did believe in Marcus.
    And that delusion would kill her, as the bullet wound showed.
    The truth might hurt her now, but if it saved her life, if he could save one life with what he had gone through…it wouldn’t atone for those who had died—nothing would—but it might take one bit of the edge off the pain. He decided to be honest…to a degree. There was no point in lying about who he was anymore. Isabella knew Marcus personally, which meant she’d known he was Marcus’s son the moment she’d laid eyes upon him. If the truth could save her life, he needed to do it. “He killed my