Free Baby, It's Cold Outside by Jennifer Greene, Merline Lovelace, Cindi Myers

you suddenly decided I needed this major lecture on stuff that’s none of your business?”
    “We didn’t have sex. We made love,” she corrected him.
    “Damn right we did.” He loomed over her. “And we’d better do it again, right now and fast. Before this fight goes to a place that neither of us wants to travel.”
    “We shouldn’t fight on Christmas,” she agreed, even as she was reaching for him.
    “How about if we don’t fight at all. We may not get out of here for a couple of days…but that’s not much time left.”
    She hadn’t forgotten. The real world was waiting for her out there—her world. She had decisions that had to be made, a career to decide on, a life to put back together. This was just a short oasis of time. That was all it was, all it could be.
    Suddenly she was kissing him for all she was worth. She wasn’t denying or evading. She was just in an uninhibited hustle to be with him, to cleave, to shore up memories. Who knew if love that sprang up this fast could possibly last? But the bond was real. Her connection to him, with him, was potent and wonderful and infuriatingly real. In her heart, she knew irrevocably that she’d never feel this way about anyone else.
     
    W HEN R ICK WOKE THE NEXT morning, she was curled around him like a petal on a rose, soft and sweet—and completely unnerving. Emilie was unlike him in every way, had a life that couldn’t possibly mesh with his. Yet he woke up, thinking of stuff he wanted to tell her about. Thinking he already wanted to make love with her again. Thinking that he was already so attached that separating was going to feel like cutting off a limb.
    He didn’t trust women. How had he forgotten that so fast?
    He edged out of the covers, tried to quietly do the obvious first round of activities—a fast shower, feeding the fire, checking the generator. He figured she’d be awake by then, but she was curled up under all those blankets, just the tip of her blond head showing.
    Didn’t look as though she was missing him.
    He started suiting up. The wood supply had gotten them through so far, but it was a good thing the storm had quit, because he could get out to the woodshed, start splitting more. He wasn’t positive how much physical exertion the shoulder burn could take, but he knew darn well his brain needed the exercise.
    Hard work was always a good way to kick some sense into a man. He pulled on gloves, checked on her one last time.
    She was still sleeping. Sound as a baby. Clearly didn’t miss him.
    He stepped out, felt the slap of icy air and told himself it felt good. A slap upside the head was exactly what he deserved. Trudging the distance to the shed took all the wind out of his sails—it was only fourteen feet off the back door, but the snow was deep and heavy.
    Inside the dim shed, at least he was out of the wind. Cords of wood were already neatly stacked, but he wasn’t about to touch that. No one in this neck of the woods took advantage of shelter without leaving the place stocked as he found it. A few cords in back were clearly still aging, too wet, would smoke if they were used too soon. He prowled around until he found what he wanted—some good seasoned wood and a sharp axe. He left the door open for light, yanked off his hat, took off the top parka layer, and started in.
    A half hour passed. Then an hour and more. By then, he was starving for breakfast, starving for Emilie, and he’d split three-quarters of a cord.
    When he stood up and wiped his brow, his heartslammed to a stop. He smelled something dark and ripe even before he turned around and saw the big, hulking shadow blocking the shed doorway.
    It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a brown bear. Alaska was their stomping grounds, after all, not humans’. Rick loved the big beasts, had never done anything to invite bear trouble, never had trouble with one. Before.
    The big guy didn’t look good. His cinnamon-brown fur was ashy; his body too lean. Standing up, he