“What do you think of my northwoods fashion?” she asked Gesader. “Will I turn many heads?”

Gesader opened one golden eye, then promptly dropped it shut again, apparently more tired than impressed. Winter went over to Matt’s sleeping bag and dragged it and its pad closer to the fire.

She unzipped the bag, crawled inside, and zipped it closed all the way up to her nose. Gesader immediately got up, walked around the now brightly burning fire, and plopped down on top of the sleeping bag so that he was tucked against her back.

“Thank you,” she whispered, staring at the fire as she breathed in the odor of wet cat fur…and another smell she’d grown quite fond of lately. It was a smell that made her think of beautiful golden eyes, tasty warm lips, and strong arms holding her secure. Winter’s last sigh of the day ended with a smile as she closed her eyes on a yawn.

Yes, she was quite in love with Matheson Gregor, and neither the magic nor Cùram de Gairn could alter that truth.

Chapter Sixteen

M att muttered yet another curse as he fought to keep his truck from sliding off the bumpy, snow-covered tote road that wound up the side of his mountain. One more mile, he estimated, before he reached the end of this trip from hell. Not six hours ago he’d been sitting in an office in his Utah factory, about to fire his quality control manager, when an overwhelming need to return to Maine had suddenly stopped him in midsentence. Unable to explain the urgency tightening his gut—to himself much less to his confused but very lucky manager—Matt had simply walked out, gotten into his jet, and headed east at one and a quarter times the speed of sound.

He’d been forced to land at Bangor International Airport instead of Pine Creek because of the weather, since the small mountain airport didn’t have instruments to land a jet in a blinding snowstorm.

Then he’d had to rent a car and drive to Pine Creek to pick up his truck. What should have been only a ninety minute ride from Bangor had taken him over two hours, again because of the storm. From Pine Creek he’d been driving over half an hour just to get this far up his mountain, and he still had to leave the truck half a mile from the meadow and hike the rest of the way in the dark through the snowstorm—in his suit and dress shoes, no less!

Dammit to hell. He was almost home and his gut still hadn’t settled down. And though he didn’t understand the exact nature of the urgency pulling at him, he sure as hell knew who was causing it. Winter MacKeage wouldn’t get out of his head. Back in Utah Matt had only known something was terribly wrong: he had felt Winter struggling in confusion, seen her face swollen from tears, sensed her wandering blindly through an emotional void that had thrown her safe little world into a tailspin.

But what Matt still couldn’t wrap his mind around was how quickly and how deeply Winter had gotten under his skin in the first place. He’d known her only two weeks, and she was already driving him mad with worry. How else could he explain walking out of an important meeting, flying recklessly into a snowstorm, or his breaking into a cold sweat at just the thought of her crying? The woman had gotten under his skin without him even noticing, while he had been busy planning and plotting instead of guarding his back.

At least his heart was safely out of her reach, that one vital organ having hardened imperviously a long, long time ago. But dammit, how in hell was he supposed to deal with a fairy princess whose prickly antics made him laugh, who had him determined to shelter her from the harsh realities of life, and who made him want her so badly he’d sell his soul to possess her?

Matt instinctively knew Winter was at his campsite; he could feel she was nearby and physically okay. But instead of growing calmer the closer he got to the cave, the urgency in his gut only increased.

He wanted her, no matter how many lectures he’d given himself to leave her alone, no matter that he knew the path she was innocently leading him down ended at damnation’s door.

He had tried. Hell, he’d run off to New York four times in the last two weeks trying to get away from her. But every time he would come racing back as his need for Winter had grown stronger instead of lessening. Yesterday he’d made it all the way to Utah, but he’d barely sat down in his chair this morning before he’d finally realized how futile it was to fight her siren’s call. Hell, just knowing she was upset was luring him home like a moth drawn to a flame—single-mindedly heading him straight toward destruction.

Matt finally brought his truck to a sliding halt in the middle of the road and shut off the engine and the lights. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, reaching on the seat beside him for the package he’

d picked up before leaving Bangor and tucking it in his pocket. He turned up the collar of his suit jacket, opened the door, and finally stepped into the howling storm. The road ran half a mile above the meadow, so with his head lowered and his shoulders hunched against the driving snow, Matt plunged into the woods, ignoring the seven inches of accumulated snow soaking through his dress shoes.

He actually lost his way twice, either from inattention or from unconsciously stalling. But finally, thirty minutes later, Matt stood at the base of the cliff that towered above the meadow, his mind warring with his body as he listened for sounds coming from inside the cave.

Snowball walked up and gently nudged his shoulder, and Matt absently gave him a pat while continuing to watch the narrow entrance. The dark shadow of a large black cat finally appeared, its hackles raised as it emitted a warning growl.

Matt reached in his pocket, pulled out the paper-wrapped packet, and tossed it just a few feet in front of Winter’s pet. With an even more ominous growl, the cat stepped forward, standing with the packet on the ground between them, his lips curled back in a snarl. The cat sneezed and stepped to the side, as if trying to go around the packet, his tail whipping back and forth in agitation.

But in the end, the lure of the catnip was too much for the panther, just as Matt had known it would be. The cat circled the fist-sized packet several times, then lowered his head and rubbed the side of his face over it, pushing it through the snow with a snorted growl that ended with another sneeze.

“I’m as sorry as you are,” Matt whispered when the great beast suddenly pounced on the package, scooping it up in his powerful jaws with a final snarl before bolting into the forest. “Forgive me,”

Matt softly petitioned to the retreating cat as it disappeared into the storm.

He turned and faced the cave again, once again torn between going inside or simply disappearing into the forest behind the leopard. It could be that simple; he could just turn and walk away and never be seen again. Winter might miss him; hell, she might even mourn him, but in the end she would be better off. At least her soul would be intact, which was more than he could say for his own if he entered that cave.

But his decision finally came down to one simple promise, given long before his heart had atrophied, when love had led Matt to an act of desperation, when hope hadn’t been a curse. So he stepped forward as he unbuttoned his snow-covered suit jacket, slipping it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground as he quietly walked through the entrance.

The moment he stepped inside, the walls of the cave started pulsing in a warm golden glow that softly lit the interior. He unbuttoned his shirt next, pulled its tails from his pants, and shrugged it off as he stared at the woman sleeping at his feet. He slipped off his shoes, then straightened and unfastened his belt. Her hair was still damp, he noticed, and her cheeks were pink with warmth. She had one hand tucked under her head, the other hand clutching the sleeping bag up to her nose.