Cold Day in Hell Read Free

… very recent. We eloped right before I left Chicago, okay? Is that enough inspiration?”
    “Perfect … ah, and I think your hubby may have arrived.” A commotion and angry male voices had Evan turning, which allowed her to see past him. “Oh my God, I hope that’s him. He’s…” Evan fluttered a hand over his heart, “stunning. All lines and angles.
    Rugged masculinity.”
    Holy crap! The picture Keely had sent to her cell phone had not done the guy justice.
    Her make-believe husband had just taken out the two, gorilla-sized thugs and wasn’t even breathing heavily. He bent over and disarmed both men, throwing their weapons over the ancient wall into the sea. Her womb clenched and her lacy thong dampened at his show of strength.
    Her pretend husband cast a narrowed glance over the area until he found her tent shelter. Man, he was impressive. She could practically feel his testosterone across the small plaza. Keely hadn’t misrepresented Risto Smith at all—he was capable and dangerous. The tension she’d carried in her shoulders and neck since Cruz had threatened her and her brothers dissipated. She wasn’t alone anymore.
    “Sweet baby Jesus, he’s huge.” And all mine. Callie shook off the errant thought.
    The man didn’t look like the type to belong to anyone but himself. She was just borrowing him for a short time. But damn, why didn’t they grow men like him in Chicago? She reached for Evan who helped her stand. She dropped his hand then walked toward Risto Smith, taking her time to drink him in.
    Keely had left some things out of her description. He was broad-shouldered, lean-hipped and far taller than her own five feet, nine inches. His face was all lines and angles with a sharp blade of a nose. Even though his name was Finnish-sounding, he looked to have some Native American blood. His collar-length hair was thick and dark as pitch, wildly layered about his head, giving him a medieval warrior look. His eyes were dark and glittering, focused only on her. She shivered and another small gush of moisture dampened her already soaked panties.
    Shaking his head and muttering something she couldn’t hear, he moved toward her in a ground-eating stride. Obviously, she wasn’t moving fast enough to suit him. Her mouth dried as he stalked her. He moved like a jungle cat, aware of all potential danger surrounding him. His demeanor said it all: he’d handle whatever came his way and survive to tell about it. This was a man a woman could rely upon. He could be protective or destructive, depending on his mood.
    Stopping a few feet from her, he sent her an imperious look, one dark masculine brow arched. It was a look she recognized, her father had often worn a similar look with her and her brothers; it said “what the fuck are you waiting on?” Callie let out a sigh, forced her trembling lips into a wide smile and ran into his arms.
    “Risto! You made it!”
    She buried her face against his throat, getting a whiff of citrus and clean male sweat.
    Her arms went around his neck in a vice-like grip; his went around her waist and back, taking her weight easily. He murmured something unintelligible against her hair. He lifted her until her feet dangled several inches off the ground, then swung her around, putting on a show for the crew, the lookee-loos, and Cruz’s men who were slowly getting up. More likely, his act allowed him to continue to check for danger. Either way, the crowd seemed impressed. Callie knew she was.
    Risto rubbed his beard-roughened jaw over her hair and spoke in a low tone, his breath wafting over her ear. “You okay, Ms. Meyers?” The rumble of his voice sent a frisson of sexual awareness down her spine, the sensations settling in long unused female parts. Her clit throbbed, matching the rapid beat of her heart. God, what a time for my libido to wake up. Right kind of man. Wrong time and place.
    She angled her face then brushed her lips over his. Her tongue licked a small scar marring