Excerpt of The Bite of Winter by Lauren Smith

Zoey was warm. So warm. When was the last time she hadn’t woken up to her own shivers? Weariness bled out of her, leaving only a pleasant sense of quiet, and she wondered if she was dead. There wasn’t any other way to explain the sudden change in her physical surroundings. She wasn’t in a hospital.

Forcing her eyelids open, it took her some time to adjust. She was lying on a massive, and incredibly soft, feather bed with a thick blanket wrapped warm and snug around her body. Like a human burrito. The thought made her giggle. She had to be dead. This had to be heaven. The last thing she remembered was the bright lights of the diner. Christmas bells ringing. The flash of a knife. Snarled words. Pain. Her heart pounded at an unsteady rhythm, and her breath quickened.

Breath? How was she breathing? And then it all came back. The man with the face of an angel and the voice of a sinner, the one who could tempt her to sell her soul for just one caress. Had he saved her? How?

Zoey’s hands started to shake as she remembered blood oozing from the wounds in her chest. Fearful, she tugged the blanket down and lifted her blood-stained shirt up. The skin was clear except for two small pink slashes between her ribs. Zoey pressed her fingertips down on the marks, testing them. They were sore, but they felt like an old injury, not something that would have killed her the night before.

Suddenly remembering she was in a strange place, she looked about the room, half hoping to find the man who’d brought her here. The bed was huge, its frame a dark wood, almost black. Despite the dimness, she could see the walls had lovely black and white photos of Paris and a few other places she thought she recognized. The crisp contrast of the photos was stunning and made her strangely homesick.

Before her life had fallen apart, she’d been studying photography. It had been her dream to live her life behind the lens, capturing moments for people. Weddings, baby showers, children’s sporting matches. She wanted to capture life in vibrant colors and a contrast of grays. Nothing would have made her happier than to take photos of the events that marked the milestones in people’s lives.

But that was gone, all gone. Her camera was likely still in some pawnshop collecting dust. Food and rent had been a priority, not her future. How long ago had that been? Zoey didn’t want to count, but it had to be somewhere around eight months.

She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and the memories out of her head. Had the handsome guy with the Irish accent brought her here? His whispered words came back to her, the promise to keep her safe and take care of her. She vaguely recalled him asking if he could bring her home, and she’d agreed. She didn’t think of herself as a weak person, but after everything she’d been through it was such a relief to think she might have help for the first time in forever.

She did feel safe. Wherever he’d taken her, she knew he wouldn’t let harm come to her. It was stupid to trust a stranger, but her gut had told her to, and she’d never ignored her instincts before.

The man who’d helped her had held her tenderly, gently, as though he’d treasured her. Maybe he was like a Good Samaritan, a handsome man who stopped to save a complete stranger. If not that, he surely pitied her, enough to show her some compassion.

She didn’t want anyone’s pity, but it was better than apathy. She wanted to believe there were still good people out there. After everything that had happened in the last year, she was afraid to hope. But it was almost Christmas. The holidays brought the best out in people. Usually.

If only she could stay in this bed forever, wrapped in the blanket with the peaceful quiet all around her. Too many nights at the underpass had left her nervous and tense while she caught a few hours of sleep. Zoey glanced around the room, checking for a clock, but there wasn’t one. The sky was gray through the blinds of the large window next to the bed. It could be evening or early morning, she couldn’t tell.

Beside her on the bed lay her black portfolio. She snatched it up, wincing when her sore muscles complained. The sketches and photos were all out of order, but neatly placed back inside. She barely remembered dropping it when the man had attacked her. Her rescuer must have gone back and collected all of the pages. More than a few were dried and wrinkled in places where snow had seeped through. Hugging the portfolio to her chest a moment longer, she set it back down on the bed.

She jumped when someone knocked at the bedroom door.

“Excuse me, love. May I come in?” That beautiful, whisky rough voice. Definitely Irish.

“Uh…yes.”

Her hands curled into the blanket and she raised it up to her chin. She felt oddly exposed as the man eased the door open and slid inside. Zoey craned her neck to look up at him. He had to be at least six-three, with black hair long enough to touch the collar of his shirt and a thin layer of stubble. He looked like a pirate off the cover of a romance novel. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal muscled forearms, and the two top buttons were undone below his throat. She was struck by how large he was. His shoulders alone were massive. She had the sudden urge to touch them, feel the strength of the muscles beneath her palm. Her mouth ran dry as a quickening in her blood made her feel light-headed. He was a stranger; why did she want to suddenly kiss him? It made no sense at all.

“How are you doing?” He came to the bed and raised a hand to her forehead. His skin was cold, shockingly so, and she flinched from the contact. The man’s face paled and he pulled back. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. Just…cold.” Even though she didn’t want to be cold again, she’d suffer it just to have his hand back on her forehead. The whisper of a secret thrill skated along her skin, and already she missed his touch.

The man turned away and flicked on the lamp on her nightstand. The wash of gold light illuminated her mysterious rescuer. His face was just as beautiful as she’d remembered. Sharp angles and masculine perfection highlighted by dark brows above piercing winter green eyes. Faint lines bracketed his mouth as though he smiled often.

She met his gaze with a shy smile. Men like him never glanced her way, not even out of pity. Ever since she’d lost her home, she’d become almost invisible to the world. Especially men. A blush flooded her cheeks when she realized how she must look to him. Hair unwashed in thick oily strands, blood staining her flannel shirt and mud-stained jeans.

“Oh God, I must have ruined your bed!” She struggled to get free of the blanket and flopped like a fish over the edge. She braced herself for impact, but his arms shot out and caught her. She was pulled up and trapped against his upper body in a gentle embrace.

“Careful, love.” His eyes glittered with mischief. “Now, about your stomach. It’s been grumbling for the last several hours. How about I fix it for you?”

Zoey blinked, unsure of what he meant.

He smiled. “I could go out and get something for you to eat?”

“That’s really not necessary. I…I should go.” But she really wanted him to let her stay. At least for another hour. Long enough for her to preserve some warmth before facing the cold again.

He shook his head. “No. You’re not leaving.” His voice brooked no argument.

Zoey clamped her lips shut, happy not to argue. It was probably unwise to stay with a stranger, even a handsome one. But she needed a day, at least one day away from the cold. But she couldn’t forget his promise—she was safe with him. And as silly as it was, she believed it.

He strode to the door with her still tucked firmly in his arms. “Let me get you settled on the couch. Unless you’d like to wash first?”

Zoey must have made a noise, something to indicate how desperately she wanted a hot shower, because his chest shook with silent laughter.

“A shower it is, then.” He changed directions and headed down another hallway. He released her legs, letting her stand while he opened the bathroom door. A large glass shower stall was in the corner, and an even larger whirlpool tub was next to it.

She started to walk to the tub. “Oh, wow.” Maybe she wanted a bath first—a good long soak would be better.