He straightened, tucking a blanket under his arm. “A picnic kit came with the truck,” he said in explanation as he closed the door and felt around in the darkness for her hand again. He gave her fingers a squeeze and chuckled aloud. “I don’t know which of us is more trusting—your trusting that I’m not a serial killer, or my trusting that nothing out here is going to eat us.”

“I’ve been told the probability is slight that you’re a serial killer,” Winter said, finally starting to relax as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She started leading Matt farther down the path, deciding everything would be okay, that the woods were the safest place she could be. “And besides, I could easily slip away in the darkness, leaving you as bewildered as that lynx in my painting you bought.”

He laughed again, his hand tightening on hers as she stepped off the path and into the forest.

“That’s reassuring. Are you warm enough?”

“I like the cold. Watch that log,” she said, guiding him around a fallen tree, slowly relaxing the farther they went into the woods. “It’s hard to believe in another couple of months the snow up here will be deeper than I am tall.”

“I need to buy a plow for my truck,” he said as they finally broke into a tiny clearing.

“I don’t think your pickup will keep your road open all winter,” she said, stopping at the foot of a large outcropping of ledge. “You need a heavy truck to wing back the snowbanks each time.” She grinned at him through the darkness, just barely able to make out his face. “You may not have enough money left to buy heaven when you’re done building your home, Matt.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest as he took hold of her shoulders and gently pulled her against him. “Then I guess I’ll have to make Bear Mountain my heaven,” he said, holding her close in his strong, warm embrace. He ran his fingers into her hair and used his grip to gently tilt her head back to look at him. “How are we going to hear the mountain with the wind blowing?”

“You feel it more than hear it,” she said, laying her hand over his heart. “In here.”

His heartbeat felt wonderfully strong as he stood silently staring down at her, and Winter’s own heart started to race with anticipation. He was going to kiss her again, and she decided that this time she was kissing him back.

But he suddenly let her go and disappeared, and it took Winter a moment to realize he’d bent over and was picking up the blanket he’d dropped. “Where should I spread this out?” he asked, stepping over to the wall of granite rising above them and shaking open the blanket. “Here?”

“That’s good,” she muttered, rubbing her suddenly chilled arms, missing his warmth.

“I wish the clouds wouldn’t keep covering the moon,” he continued, kneeling on the blanket and feeling the ground for hidden rocks. “I bet we could see the lake from here.” He sat down on one half of the blanket and held his hand out to her.

It was the sight of that blanket that finally made Winter realize exactly how outrageous her idea had been. What in hell had made her suggest they lie up here in the darkness together? She simply couldn

’t get on that blanket with a man who turned her mind to mush. It was an intimate if not brazen situation she’d created, and Winter wondered how she was going to get out of this mess without truly making a fool of herself.

“Come on,” he said, dropping his hand and patting the blanket beside him. “I promise I’ll keep my fingers laced behind my head,” he told her, his voice coaxingly gentle. “You have my word, Winter, nothing will happen between us that you don’t want to happen.”

And therein lay the very heart of her problem.

Another thick flurry of leaves blew off the ledge above them, scattering like snowflakes over the blanket and catching in her hair. Matt stretched out on his back with a sigh and folded his hands behind his head like a pillow. “The ground is warm,” he said into the darkness. “I expected it to be bone-chilling cold.”

He looked so strange, lying in the forest in his expensive suit and dress shoes. Not that he seemed any more worried about ruining his wardrobe than about scratching his truck. In fact, Matt was a contradiction of refined sophistication and rugged strength. Winter could picture him in a boardroom commanding an army of suits just as easily as she could see him commanding an army of warriors on a battlefield. Matt Gregor was an intriguing mix of brawn and brain, she decided.

“The ground doesn’t feel cold because it’s still warmer than the air,” she explained, stepping closer when he squirmed into a more comfortable position. “The mist you see rising from the forest in the morning comes from the temperature difference.”

“I wish the moon would stay out. It’s full.”

Winter took another step closer. “Actually, it was full last night,” she said, finally sitting on the ground beside the blanket—but not on it. She gathered up her blowing hair and twisted it into a tail that she pulled over her right shoulder. “It was also the autumnal equinox yesterday. It’s rare that both occur on the same day.”

“A full moon and an equinox,” he said, just as the clouds thinned enough that Winter could see his eyes were closed and a soft smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “That must have brought the fairies out to dance last night.”

Winter found her own smile as she gazed off toward Pine Lake, just barely able to make out the large body of water. “Wouldn’t it be nice if fairies really did exist?” she mused.

“They must,” Matt said. “If you put one in Moon Watchers.”

She turned in surprise. “You saw her? You saw my fairy?”

He opened his eyes to look at her. “Just barely. You tucked her in a high branch and made her nearly translucent.” He resettled himself, closed his eyes again, and frowned. “I can’t feel anything. No hum. No breathing.”

“That’s because you’re not being quiet,” she told him, finally lying back—but only so her head was on the blanket.

“Then stop talking,” he muttered. “And let me concentrate.”

Winter smiled at nothing, closed her own eyes, and listened to the wind filtering through the treetops around them. She could hear the squeak of a tree trunk rubbing against another trunk; dried leaves crackling as they rolled over each other across the ground; an acorn ricocheting off several branches with sharp pings, finally landing on the forest floor with a muted thud. More rustling came with the scurrying of tiny feet, then the alarmed chatter of a nocturnal flying squirrel scolding them for invading his favorite acorn patch.

If only two days ago someone had told Winter she’d be lying on a mountain at night with a handsome, undeniably appealing man, she’d have told them to pull her other leg. But for reasons she couldn’t quite understand, Winter felt this was about as right, and as real, as it got.

“If you would quit humming, I might be able to hear your mountain,” Matt said softly.

Winter rolled toward him with a laugh. “I’m not humming. That’s the mountain. It’s sharing its energy with you, Matt.”

He opened his eyes and looked down at her, the slash of his smile bright enough to rival the moon. “So you weren’t telling tales. It really is alive.”

She wiggled closer, until she was completely on the blanket and her head was even with his.

“Yes. The mountain is brimming with energy.”

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

She blinked into his dark, unfathomable eyes.

“I want to feel your energy, Winter MacKeage. Kiss me.”

Still she didn’t move, caught in his mesmerizing gaze.

Matt lifted his head only slightly and wiggled his laced fingers. “I keep my promises, Winter,” he said, his voice deep with coaxing sincerity. “You’re safe with me tonight. My hands are staying behind my head. Kiss me.”

Heaven help her, she wiggled closer, until she was actually leaning over him.