But she wasn’t going to sit in the house, worrying whether the stranger might reinjure himself on another trip to the beach or back alone. So he was stuck with her, whether he liked it or not. Besides, staying there and worrying about the intruder’s return wasn’t an option either.

He shook his head, yet the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward.

He walked the rest of the way to the house, moving slower this time, as if making sure she didn’t slip again or fall too far behind. At least that’s what she assumed. Unless he just hurt so much, walking was difficult.

They headed inside and he set his firewood on the rack. Taking the wood from her arms, he stacked it with the rest. Then like a good Boy Scout, despite looking too roguish to be one, he set up a perfect fire. Slowly, the flames began to crackle and throw off a curl of heat.

Crouching in front of the fireplace, he frowned up at her, his darkening gaze drifting again to her turtleneck. “Why don’t you get into something dry.”

“I’ll be fine.” She couldn’t admit she was afraid to be by herself.

“Your clothes are soaking wet. You’re shivering. The house is freezing. You’re not fine. Lock the bedroom door, if you’re afraid.”

She clenched her teeth. She wasn’t afraid of the veritable god. Well, maybe a little. She yanked off her wet gloves and parka, tossed them on the coffee table so they’d dry by the fire, and then returned to the bedroom and locked the door—as a precaution. She tried the phone; still no dial tone. She glanced at her bedside table. The gun.

She jerked the drawer open. Her heart skipped a beat. No gun.

Blind rage filled her. Feeling violated, she collapsed on the edge of the bed. If someone used the gun to commit a crime, the police would trace it straight to her. Not to mention she couldn’t count on it for protection now.

How had the man known where to find it? What else had he taken? Nothing looked like it was out of place.

Focus—get warm and dry before pneumonia sets in. Shaking violently from the cold, she stood, peeled off her wet clothes, and dumped them on the floor.

She shoved on a pair of emerald fleece sweats, matching heavy-duty socks, and her fur-lined boots. Feeling a little warmer, she hurried down the hall and dumped her wet clothes in the dryer, her thoughts centered on the naked man.

Did he really have amnesia? Or was it just a ploy to keep his identity a secret? He seemed so dangerous, maybe because he was so powerfully built. Her brother and the men she had dated were scrawny compared to this guy.

She twisted the dryer dial to turn it on high. No response. Damn, no electricity.

Grumbling, she yanked her wet things out of the dryer and hung them in the shower to drip dry. But then a dark thought crossed her mind. What if the ice storm hadn’t knocked out the electricity? What if the intruder had done something to it?

She hurried to the coat closet to check the circuit breaker, glanced in the direction of the living room and noticed the fire had caught hold, its golden flames throwing off some heat. But Hunter was gone. Her heart fluttered with fresh apprehension.

She rushed to the back door and saw him trudging up the hill with another armload of firewood as big as the first. Curbing her annoyance that he would sneak out and chance injuring himself further without her being there to rescue him, she glowered.

Even her brother couldn’t carry that much, certainly not if he had had been injured like this man. He reminded her of a Highland warrior, his brow creased with determination, his face dark and brooding, his body hard and ready to win any battle no matter how much his enemy had beaten him beforehand. A kilt was all he needed to complete the look. A kilt, and nothing else.

He caught her eye and offered her a hint of a smile. Hell, she’d been ogling the poor man—again.

“Do you have anything in the house to eat?”

Walking past her while she locked the door, he smelled like the sea, pines, wind, rainwater, and a rugged outdoorsman. If they could bottle his scent, the cologne would drive women crazy. With a clunk, he deposited the wood neatly with the rest, shaking her loose from her insane thoughts.

“Uhm, let me check one thing.” She returned to the coat closet and pulled the door open. She yanked on the light switch pull and then shook her head when the bulb didn’t come on. When would she get it through her brain there was no electricity?

Before she could get the flashlight, he placed another log on the fire and said, “I already checked the circuit breaker.”

He was way ahead of her. “You think the ice storm has brought down the lines?”

“Since your unwelcome houseguest didn’t mess with the circuit breaker, that’s what I assume.”

She took a settling breath. If the intruder had shut off her electricity, it probably would mean he’d return. Hopefully, this meant he’d only come for the gun. Unless he realized she was alone and would return later to steal more. The newspaper had covered the press on her brother’s story for weeks. Everyone knew she was by herself now. Instantly re-chilled, she rubbed her arms and returned to the kitchen.

“I have a rack that we can put over the fire and grill some steaks,” she offered.

“Rare.” He walked into the kitchen, sure of himself, no hint that he’d been mostly dead a half hour ago.

Her brother’s sweats would never look the same. Whereas they hung off her brother’s slim frame, they hugged this guy’s muscled body.

She tried to get her mind off the man’s physique and concentrate on dinner. She had never attempted cooking anything in her fireplace. Would it work? Or be a total disaster?

“Garlic? Lemon and pepper seasoning?” Wishing it was at least defrosted, she pulled the meat out of the freezer.

“However you prepare it is fine with me. As long as it’s rare.”

“What do you think happened to you?” She handed him the rack for the fireplace.

“Not sure. My skin feels tight, like I soaked for hours in a tub of salt water, so I imagine I took a swim in the ocean.”

“Did you want a shower?”

“Would you have enough hot water?”

“Probably not.”

She seasoned the steaks and carried them into the living room. “I’ve got candles and flashlights in one of the kitchen drawers, if you want to get them for later.”

It wouldn’t be dark for another hour or so, but if the electricity didn’t come back on, she wanted to be prepared before nightfall.

“I’ll watch the steaks.”

“All right. Medium. That’s the way I like mine.”

She returned to the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers, looking for the emergency candles.

“Is anything missing from your house?” he asked.

She headed back into the living room with an armful of lighting paraphernalia.

A shadow of dark stubble covered his square jaw, and his eyes looked haunted. No wonder, after all he had been through. His coffee-colored hair hung to his shoulders and dripped water. She needed to get him a towel.

“He stole my gun.” She set two flashlights, two camp lanterns, and four candles on the coffee table.

The man’s eyes widened. “You know how to shoot?”

“Of course. I have a concealed weapon license. Someone broke into our house a couple of times before because we’re so isolated.”

He flipped the steaks. “Where’s your brother?”

Tears cascaded down her cheeks before she could stop them. “He went to prison for a murder he didn’t commit.” She grabbed a tissue from a box on the coffee table. Almost empty. Again.

Hunter studied her for a moment before saying anything. A hint of compassion showed in his eyes. For her? Or her brother? Or was she hallucinating?

“Have any proof?” He flipped a steak onto a plate. Barely cooked.

“No. He didn’t do it. And I’ll find the killer if I have to. Michael’s girlfriend was seeing someone behind his back. What if he was the one who killed her? Usually the murderer knows the victim.”

Hunter looked like he didn’t believe her.

She cast him an annoyed look. After she saved his naked butt, the least he could do was pretend he believed her.

“I’ve got some rolls and canned asparagus we can eat cold.”

She stalked down the hall to the guest bathroom, grabbed a fresh bath towel from the linen closet, and returned to the living room. “Here, to dry your hair.”

He had a plate in one hand and was turning her steak with the other. She hesitated. If he’d been a friend, she would have offered to dry his hair. But he wasn’t. Still, the house was cold, except for the part of their bodies directly exposed to the fire, and…

He tilted his head back and looked up at her, his mouth curving slightly upward. “Maybe you can towel-dry it. Icy drops of water keep rolling down my neck.”

Rife with indecision, she stood next to him. The fire flickered light off his eyes, like a wolfish predator, tempting her to draw closer into his web of seduction. What was there about him that turned her insides into mush? No man had ever made her feel that way with just a look.

The thought of drying his hair seemed so… intimate.

Taking a deep breath, she moved closer, leaning over him, sliding the fluffy towel over larger clumps of his dark hair, trying to dry it quickly. To not get caught up in the feel of him, the way his body’s heat reached out to her, the way he smelled so masculine, so intriguing. But then she separated his hair into smaller sections and wrung the shiny strands as dry as she could to prevent his getting chilled. He leaned his back against her legs, relaxing his posture, and she couldn’t help wanting to melt against him, too.

He looked up at her, his expression half gratitude, the other half pure tantalization, his eyes clouded with desire. She cleared her throat, switched her attention to his damp hair again, and massaged his scalp.

“Hmm, your hair is a little wet, too,” he said under his breath, his rigid body relaxing as he set the plate down and reached up and touched a wet curl dangling over her shoulder.

She swore the heat from his touch could dry her hair in a flash.