Passion is heating up those arctic Alaska nights!

It took nerve for Northern California socialite Teresa Drake to walk away from her family’s famed wine empire. Flying off to Alaska is even riskier—especially when the budding journalist stumbles down a cavern while admiring the spectacular sights. But it’s her gorgeous rescuer who makes Teresa truly reckless. The night she spends with mogul Atka Sinclair convinces her she’s found her soul mate…until her charming lover becomes her worst enemy.

Atka has deep ties to his native land. So how can he trust the pampered beauty who just published a glowing article about the politician out to destroy his people’s heritage? But as traitorous desire reignites, Atka realizes what he and Teresa share is too precious to lose. Will pride prevent him from building a future with the woman who could write them the most thrilling love story of all?

“Atka?” Her voice was soft, delicate.

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

“Go to sleep, Teresa.”

“Didn’t you tell me to help ease the pain in my ankle by thinking about other things? That’s what I’m doing. You are what I’m thinking about and a kiss is what I want to help me stay focused on that and not the pain.”

“Teresa, you have no idea what door you’re opening.”

A pause and then, “I’ll take my chances.”

No movement at first. Then, a shifting on the sofa sleeper, until Atka’s body lay aligned with hers. A tentative hand on the thigh that, ever since first seeing it, he’d longed to touch.

Teresa shifted.

“No, stay still.”

“But—”

“Still…and quiet.”

He ran his finger up the side of her thigh, across the band of her thong and over her stomach. As he did so, he raised up on an elbow, sensing more than seeing Teresa’s face in the dark.

He bent his head and met her cheek. He kissed it.

And on to the neck bearing the fragrance of his frustration. He licked it.

Teresa lay there. Still. Quiet. Waiting.

His hand continued its journey beneath the flannel shirt that looked so good on her, stopping just below her breast.

He touched his lips to hers. The sensation was like two soft pillows colliding—light, airy.

Dear Reader,

The moment I saw blue ice floating along the Tracy Arm Fjord, I knew part of a future story would take place in beautiful Alaska. Traveling there brought me closer to finishing a bucket list of visiting all fifty states (ten states left!). A cruise with romance-writing queen Brenda Jackson was a perfect way to get there.

My favorite tour, which came about due to bad weather preventing a helicopter ride that would’ve had to land on a glacier, was led by a native Alaskan. I don’t remember the name of his tribe, but I do remember his heartfelt pride. It created in me a curiosity about the history of Alaska, the past and present ways of life of these various tribes, and how the arrival of gold seekers and other adventurers affected their traditions. The result of that research, combined with my appreciation for native tradition, is what you now hold in your hands, and it’s woven in between the love story of Atka and Teresa.

I hope you enjoy.

Zuri

Crystal Caress

Zuri Day

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ZURI DAY sneaked her first Mills & Boon romance at the age of twelve from her older sister’s off-limits collection and was hooked from page one. Knights in shining armor and happily-ever-afters filled her teen years and spurred a lifelong love of reading. That she now creates these stories as a full-time, award-winning author is a dream come true! Splitting her time between the stunning Caribbean islands and Southern California, she’s always busy writing her next novel. Zuri makes time to connect with readers and meet with book clubs. Contact her via Facebook (haveazuriday) or at zuri@zuriday.com.

Dedication

When embracing the excitement of faraway travels,

A romance story setting is sure to unravel.

That’s how the hero and heroine here

Found love between the golden state and the last frontier.

Acknowledgment

A warm and special thank you to my editor and friend, Glenda Howard. She is not only one of the best in this business, but also one of the kindest, most insightful individuals I know.

Reference for Yupik Words

Emaaq—Grandmother

Apaaq—Grandfather

Nuliaq—wife

Panik—daughter

Waqaa—hello

Cama-I—general greeting

Cangacit—how are you?

Quyana—thank you

Qasgi—communal house for young boys

Aviukaryaraq—sacred offering

Papoota (taya)—a term of endearment

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgment

Reference for Yupik Words

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Copyright

Chapter 1

“Alaska?” With a Herculean effort, Teresa Drake’s expression was one of positive interest when her mind was all sorts of WTH.

The editor in chief of the Paradise Cove Chronicle, Teresa’s boss Gloria Murray, smiled broadly, her bright green eyes twinkling with glee. “I know, right? Who wouldn’t want this plum assignment?”

She was looking at her.

“The imminent arrival of our first grandchild is the only thing that could keep me from revisiting the last frontier. Jim and I have such wonderful memories from our fourteen-day cruise across the state to celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

“Then why don’t you plan the trip for after the baby arrives? A trip to Alaska sounds like quite the adventure, one I wouldn’t want to deprive you and your husband of enjoying again.”

“If that were possible, trust me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But this story will involve more than a rundown and description of landmarks and things to do. One of the owners of the paper has a son living in Anchorage and running for office. In a few weeks, he’s doing a major fund-raiser for him here in Paradise Cove and wants the story to precede this event.”

“Oh.”

“One more thing about the fund-raiser. Did I say it’s major? Benny is pulling out all of the stops. He wants everybody from the paper to be there.”

“Attendance is mandatory?”

“Pretty much.”

Teresa thought to put that date on her calendar later. Right now there were more pressing things on her mind. Like getting out of a date with an iceberg. “What about the more senior writers? Won’t they feel slighted at not being asked?”

“You let me worry about personnel while you concentrate on writing a series of articles that cast both Alaska and Paul Campbell, the young man you’ll be interviewing, in a positive light. His being elected mayor of Anchorage, Alaska, will put him on solid footing toward his goal to become governor of the state, and can mean good news for Paradise Cove through joint business ventures and other avenues. So you’re the lucky person who gets to write an article that makes him shine, and also pleases the man who signs your paycheck.”

“Lucky me!”

The effort to keep a smile pasted on her face was painful, but with the editor eyeing her keenly, Teresa managed it. When she’d finally convinced/cajoled/begged her way into a leave of absence from the family business and then signed on with the local newspaper to cover the travel section, a trip to the last frontier—or the first one, for that matter—wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. She’d envisioned turquoise water and white sandy beaches, the walk of stars in Hollywood, the neon lights of New York’s Times Square or, for a more rustic experience, perhaps the Grand Canyon. But Alaska? Um, no.

Tapping her iPad tablet out of sleep mode, Teresa hid her indifference behind a professional veneer. “Since I’m going to Alaska primarily to interview a political candidate, from what perspective would you like the article written?”

Gloria leaned against the back of her chair and tapped a pen against the desk. “Good question, and I’d like your input. I’m thinking several consecutive stories will be nice, actually, perhaps a four-part series that begins with the story on Paul—whose roots are here in Paradise Cove—which would run in the main part of the paper. The remaining three pieces could be on the state and written either for the travel or lifestyle sections. What do you think?”

I’m thinking someone else should do this assignment.

“I think that’s a good idea. That way, the article doesn’t come off as a blatant endorsement. If that happened, we might have to give equal space to the opponent. That’s something I’ll check into.”

“See, I knew you were the perfect fit for this piece. Having helped your brother during his successful mayoral bid gives you an insight into politics and the types of questions to answer that will make this a much more interesting story than one written by someone with no personal experience in that world. You’ll have instant camaraderie, which along with the education and skill you bring to the table will make for a winning article. Be sure and write it on Paul in a way that doesn’t warrant a rebuttal piece. The last thing Benny would want to do is give his son’s opponent a forum.”

Teresa nodded. “When do I leave for this assignment?”

“Tomorrow, if possible.”

Teresa’s WTH face came out of hiding.

“It’s the life of a journalist, darling, who instantly goes to where the story flows. Paul leaves for a tour across Alaska on Thursday and as I’ve said, we want this story to run next week. Which is why I’m giving you the rest of the day off to prepare for the trip. Your flight is at one o’clock from Oakland, putting you into Anchorage tomorrow evening. A tentative appointment with Paul has been set up for Wednesday morning, but you’ll need to confirm that with his assistant once you arrive. We’re pulling together everything you need—confirmation numbers for flight and hotel, contact numbers and a suggested itinerary—which will be emailed to you this afternoon. This is a tricky time of year up there where rain, snow and dropping temps are all in the forecast, so pack accordingly. You may need to schedule a couple hours at an Anchorage mall after your meeting for your investigative travels, but hopefully you have the gear to get you through your arrival and first meeting, and by gear I mean boots, scarves, knit cap or hat, an umbrella or raincoat and gloves.”

“In April?”

Gloria nodded. “When reading the clothing recommendations for our May cruise, I had the same reaction. Turns out we used every piece of winter clothing we’d placed in the luggage. One of the recommendations in the itinerary requires an arrival by boat and believe me, when the wind kicks up among the sails, it can be something fierce. So I strongly encourage you to check the internet for more specifics on the weather and be more prepared to layer and stay warm rather than dress to impress, which I know will be hard for the woman voted Most Fashionable in last year’s society section.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage. But—” Teresa stood “—between researching the candidate and shopping for winter in spring, it’s going to take every second up to and including my time during the flight. So I’d best get started.”

“My assistant helped out a bit by pulling some things off the internet and combining them with information Benny has provided. All of this will be included in the email you receive. You can use the remaining days for the vacation-destination angle of your piece, returning on Friday or staying through the weekend, your choice. But I need at least a draft of the first article on my desk Friday morning and the finished version first thing Monday.”

“Got it. Thanks for giving me this opportunity, Gloria. I’ll do my best.”

“I know how you operate, Teresa, with a standard of excellence. You’ll do even better than that.”

That evening, Teresa entered the Drake estate burdened down with boxes and bags. The housekeeper met her at the door leading from the garage, with Jennifer, Teresa’s mother, not far behind.

“I take for you.”

“Thanks, Sylvia.” Teresa handed over all but a couple of the bags. “Just place them in my suite. They won’t be there long, so no need to hang them.” She turned to Jennifer. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, dear. Shopping usually puts a smile on your face. You don’t look happy.”

“I don’t like snow.” Teresa slunk down the hall, through the gallery and into the living room, where she plopped onto a couch.

Jennifer joined her for needed clarification. “Clearly, something happened today. Would you like to start at the beginning?”

“I’m going to Alaska.”

“Oh, how wonderful.”

“Not you, too.”

“What? I’ve heard the beauty there is magnificent. Just the other day your father and I were discussing a possible Alaskan cruise with the neighbors.”

“Great! Would you like to go there tomorrow, interview a politician and then travel to a couple places only accessible by boat?”

“Teresa, you’re sulking and that doesn’t become you. I’ll take part of the blame for this. You’re too much like your mother, a girlie-girl whose idea of roughing it means driving ourselves into San Francisco instead of hiring a driver.”

“Exactly, Mom. You understand!”

“I do. And I also recognize that the paper sending you on assignment after six short months of working there speaks highly of their belief in your ability to do the job.” She placed a hand on Teresa’s arm. “It’s why you gave your dad heartburn until he caved in to your request for a leave of absence, correct?”

“You’re right.”

“Think of the trip as a blessing in disguise. You haven’t dated much since George showed his true colors. Perhaps you’ll meet someone and—”

“Mom. I’m not ready to get back into the dating game. I’d rather focus on work.”

“Then view it as a change of scenery and chance to clear your head.”

“I know that I should be grateful. But I had plans this weekend and they didn’t include being in a place where bears outnumber humans.”

Jennifer chuckled. “Tell me more about this wonderful opportunity.”

An hour later, Jennifer’s eternally optimistic perspective made Teresa feel better about leaving for Alaska. A little.

* * *

Atka Sinclair sat back in his company’s Mercedes-Benz helicopter and surveyed part of the Aleknagik land that had been in his tribe’s generation for a thousand years. The dusting of snow reflecting against the sun gave the tableau an ethereal feel. The deep and varied hues of tall, green pines seemed to lift their branches in praise to the universe. Birds and clouds floated on serenity’s song against a backdrop of sparkling lakes. All this—uninterrupted by glass-and-concrete edifices, corporate offices or cookie-cutter houses—was more than four hundred miles away from his company’s corporate offices in Anchorage, and a hundred miles from Dillingham, where the highly profitable fisheries that drove the corporation were located. It was here that he felt one with the sky, the earth and all its creatures. Here, twenty thousand feet in the air, soaring on the wings of the wind—and aided by a turbo engine—Atka felt most at peace, and communed with Spirit God. Here, he recalled the stories of the ancients, those who’d traversed the land more than a thousand years ago, stories passed down to him from his emaaq and apaaq—his grandmother and grandfather. He’d grown up in Anchorage with his parents. But his soul remained spiritually and emotionally connected to the land of his boyhood, the place where he learned to hunt, swam with the fish and shared with the trees his wistful dreams. So it was with a great sense of gratitude that he followed his partner’s advice to get away for a few days and rejuvenate his spirit. With the storm brewing along the business and political fronts...he was going to need it.

He tapped the button that connected to his headset radio. “Waqaa!” Atka smiled as his longtime friend/brother, Frank, responded in their native Yupik language before continuing in English.

“About time you quit playing big businessman and come home.” He waved his hands. Totally unnecessary since Atka, a proficient pilot who’d flown helicopters for five years, could have landed just about anywhere with efficiency. The large, circled X on the concrete helipad made landing something Atka could almost do in his sleep. With one eye open, of course.

Atka exited the helicopter and greeted Frank’s nephew, Xander, whom he paid to take care of the property between his infrequent visits. After handing Xander the helicopter keys, Atka and Frank walked into the station, so far the only shelter he’d had built on the five-acre property he’d purchased several years ago. Little more than an elaborate and well-made shed, this station housed his copter gear and other flight accessories. It also held a minikitchen, small bathroom and bedroom, and an office that doubled as the lad’s living space.

Atka walked into the kitchen area and began opening cabinets.

Frank followed close behind. “The place is well stocked, Atka. I didn’t know when you’d be back, and with the snow arriving... I thought it best to take care of that.”

Atka nodded. “You were right. I appreciate it.” He looked out the window, watched Xander performing a check on the helicopter. “How’s he doing?”

Frank shrugged. “Hard to tell. He was always quiet, but has become more so since his mother died. Much like you.” Atka said nothing. “I know you loved her, friend, but it is time for both of you to start living again. It is what she would want.”

Atka released a sigh. “I know. What about money? Is the account—”

“Atka, there’s enough money in that account to last until he’s an old man. Please stop worrying about Xander and blaming yourself for what happened. You couldn’t have saved his mother. No one could have. The cancer spread too quickly.”

“His father dying when he was just a toddler, and now his mom gone? I worry about him.” Atka turned from the boy who looked so much like the woman he thought he’d marry—the woman who was snatched away almost as quickly as he’d found her. The last promise he’d made to Mary was that he’d take care of her son. It was a promise he intended to keep. He walked over to a wooden slab that held several keys. “Maybe moving him to Anchorage will help.”

“Good luck with that. He loves this land as much as his mother and grandparents ever did. Being here keeps him close to her.”

“But going to college would open up a whole new world, one that would allow him to both honor his mother’s memory and forge his own life.”

Frank walked up and put a hand on Atka’s shoulder. “Give him time. Perhaps his mind will change. He is not the only one who needs to move ahead and forge a life. Burying yourself in work is not the answer.”

Atka looked at Frank with glistening eyes. “Yes, but it helps the pain.”

* * *

Later that evening, Atka sat in a wooden rocking chair made by his apaaq’s hand, covered by a deerskin that had been lovingly tanned and softened by his emaaq. His body was warm, his belly was full and the angst that had earlier creased his brow was gone. His grandparents had never understood the need for modern contraptions—or, per his emaaq, distractions—such as TVs, radios or the like. They vaguely knew of video games, though only through conversations with their many grandchildren. When he’d purchased cell phones for both of them, the devices had gathered more dust than talk time.

So they sat chatting in the cozy, quiet living room of a rambling three-bedroom home, their intermittent conversation, spoken in the Yupik language, punctuated only by crackling logs in the fireplace and varied sounds of wildlife just outside their door.

His grandmother eyed him over her cup of tea. He braced himself for the question he knew would come before evening’s end.

“Children soon come?”

“Emaaq, you already have more great-grandchildren than can be counted on fingers and toes!”

“Yes, but not from our guardian angel.”

Atka smiled at the use of his name’s meaning. As the youngest of ten grandchildren, he’d often wondered why this magnificent woman before him, the one who’d named him, had believed him to be the clan’s protector, preserver and champion. Yet words like these had often been used to describe him.

“To have a child, I need a wife, right?”

“Don’t ask silly questions,” she retorted, her tone brusque but eyes twinkling.

“You’re the one who asked about children when I’m not even married. With business booming, I have no time for a social life. Women take time, and work, right, Apaaq?”

Atka’s grandfather thoughtfully removed his pipe, and blew a perfect circle of smoke into the air. “A closed mouth always provides a correct answer.”

He smiled, replaced his pipe and stared into the fire.

“Apaaq! I remember you telling me that marriage was around a point of land and not to take a shortcut to get there.” Silence. Another blue circle of smoke floated toward the ceiling. “Help me out!”

“In this, you need no help. Your road to matrimony is too long already.” Emaaq’s voice was low yet firm. “We are old. Mary is gone. I know you loved her, sweet boy, but it has been three years since she journeyed to the Great Spirit. The time is long past for you to find your ukurraq, begin a family and continue the traditions you were taught in more than a few qasgi meetings. Will you deny me the joy of holding your precious panik before your apaaq and I fly to the sky land so that she will know me upon my return?”

“He,” the grandfather corrected, sure that Atka’s first would be a son.

“No pressure, right?” Atka rose from the rocking chair, went over to sit cross-legged in front of his grandmother and took her hand in his. “Emaaq, I could never deny you anything. When I marry, I want the woman to be smart, kind, loving and beautiful...just like you. To find someone so special will not be an easy task.”

“Perhaps. But I will ask the spirit guides to help you.” Just then, the shrill sound of a feathered creature calling for his mate sounded through the window. His grandmother chuckled lightly. “Children soon come.”

“All right, Emaaq.” After a bit more conversation he kissed his grandparents and retired to a room he’d slept in since childhood. Early tomorrow, he’d walk with his apaaq to the sacred space where his great-grandfather and others were buried, perform aviukaryaraq—an offering to them and the land—and hunt. Then he’d fly to Dillingham for a casual walk-through of his fisheries at Bristol Bay and a couple nights of solitude in his one-room cabin. Smiling, he drifted off to sleep, knowing that the chance of his meeting a suitable woman or wife at either location was slim to none. So his thoughts on dear emaaq conspiring with the spirits to bring him a wife could be summed up in four words.

Good luck with that.

Chapter 2

Teresa snuggled farther down in her newly purchased sheepskin coat, the sexiest one she could find at the store the hotel concierge had recommended. The black wool pantsuit, turtleneck, high-heeled boots and faux-fur coat had gotten her through the flight and the interview with politician Paul Campbell. For her meeting at his campaign office, she’d dressed to impress. For the rest of her itinerary she planned to heed her boss’s advice to layer to stay warm.

During the ride back to the hotel, she scanned her notes from the morning’s interview. All in all, she thought it had gone fairly well, especially given the fact that she’d immediately sized up her interviewee as an arrogant know-it-all, clearly prepared to do and say whatever it took to get into office. Two minutes in and he’d played the flirt card. Within five, she’d been informed the victory he considered a fait accompli was only one of three steps to the US presidency. It was one thing to be confident. Thanks to her brothers, even a shred of cockiness was tolerable, sexy even. But privileged arrogance was a turnoff. Like Paul, she’d grown up in the lap of luxury. Unlike him, she still had compassion for those less fortunate and a perspective ever mindful that her lifestyle was a blessing and not her just due. She casually eyed the passing scenery as their meeting replayed in her mind.

* * *

“Ms. Drake!” His blue eyes had twinkled with open admiration as he approached her with outstretched hands. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She extended her hand. “Please call me Teresa.”

He took it. “Only if you call me Paul.”

Teresa’s eyes had narrowed when he unabashedly scanned her body and seemed to nod his appreciation. She had pulled her hand from a shake that had lasted too long. She was not a pork chop, and thought his wife might have a problem with the fact that her husband viewed some journalists as he would a piece of meat. Bad career move, Paul. As a seasoned politician who thought he knew everything, he should have known better than to act like this.

“I understand you’re a part of Paradise Cove’s first family. Your brother is Nicodemus Drake?”

“Yes. First family is a generous description, and that title belongs to him and his wife, Monique. I am simply a citizen of that wonderful town, the same as your parents and other relatives still living in PC. Speaking of which, I understand you graduated a year ahead of my oldest brother, Ike Jr. Do you remember him?”

“Are you kidding? Who could forget Ike? He was as brainy, gregarious and charming as they come, something that obviously runs in the family.” He had winked, and gestured toward a seating area in his roomy office. “Shall we?”

Teresa had covered the urge to gag with a patient smile, taken a seat and steeled herself against what would surely be a taxing interview. On the bright side, all she had to do was get through it. And she did.

* * *

Hours later, she reached the hotel. After securing a bellman to deliver her many purchases, she continued to her room, ordered room service and changed into comfy clothes. A crash course in all things Alaskan, gleaned from the information she’d been emailed and more than a dozen sites bookmarked on her browser, had helped her come up with a time-effective game plan to make the most of her time on the last frontier and, most important, be able to make her flight leaving Anchorage for Saturday morning at 12:45 a.m. She’d decided to theme her four-part series around Alaska’s people, places and plentiful resources, all of which she’d discussed with Paul in order to set up the rest of the series. By dinnertime, she’d finished a nearly perfect first draft of the leading article and also firmed up her travel plans for the next two days. Figuring she’d benefit more from dining in the restaurant than again in her room, she called downstairs, and after another conversation with a helpful concierge, she decided on the Glacier Brewhouse. She pulled on a pair of woolen stretch pants, paired them with an oversize sweater, her “sexy” sheepskin coat and new Ugg boots, and headed downstairs to an awaiting taxi.

Five minutes and she’d reached her destination. When asked, the driver had agreed that this restaurant was a fine choice. Both he and the concierge must have been right: a weeknight, yet every table was taken.

She approached the host stand. “How long is the wait for a table?”

The hostess looked around. “About fifteen to thirty minutes. But there are seats at the bar.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.”

She walked over and found a seat next to a guy engaged in conversation with the bartender.

The bartender smiled. “Good evening. What can we get for you tonight?”

“A menu for starters, thanks.”

“Coming right up.” The bartender gave her a menu. “Your first time here?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in for a treat.”

“I don’t doubt that. The restaurant came highly recommended.”

He placed a glass of water in front of her. “As you know, we’re a brewery, with over a dozen selections on tap. We’ll surely satisfy your taste for a cold one, no matter the palate.”

“Um, personally, I’m more of a wine girl.”

The bartender’s eyes widened. He looked at the man he’d conversed with before she arrived. “Did you hear that, man?”

The man smiled, answering without looking up from his phone. “I heard that.”

Teresa glanced at him. Great hair. Smooth skin. Nice teeth. And a nearly hidden dimple that flashed when he smiled. Had she been on a mission to meet a man, this one would have definitely intrigued her. Even with his five-o’clock shadow, when she liked her men clean-shaven. But she wasn’t here for that. She was in town on business and in this place for something to eat. That was all. She wasn’t here to flirt with, or pick up, handsome men. These words she repeated more than once as the two men interacted.

“Who’d walk into the best brewery in America talking about wine?”

Handsome shrugged. “A woman pretty sure of herself, I’d say.” He looked at her. His eyes were dark, almost black, and smoldering. Had someone just turned up the heat in the room? Teresa forced her eyes to the menu, while they’d really wanted to linger on the man’s tantalizing lips.

The bartender went on. “Tell me the type of wine you prefer, and I’ll serve up a few samples that will convert you from a stemmed glass to a hearty, chilled mug.”

Teresa laughed. “I like a semidry Chardonnay, with hints of fruit and a little spice.”

“I’ve got a couple choices, either of which will be perfect.” He walked away.

Teresa looked at the sexy stranger seated beside her, noted the strong, tanned fingers gripping the mug he’d just set on the bar and imagined he could perform one heck of a massage. Just as quickly, she chided herself on not being able to rein in her errant thoughts. That she’d not had a good fracking in months was no reason to entertain fracking a stranger. Or was it?

“What kind are you drinking?”

The man looked up from his phone, and over at her. “Me?” She nodded. “A Belgian pale ale.”

“What’s that taste like?”

“I’m no expert.” He shrugged. “Tastes like beer to me.”

She leaned toward him conspiratorially. “I probably shouldn’t say this too loudly, but I hate the taste of beer!”

Again, that smile as he leaned toward her and whispered, “You’re in a brewery. Definitely not a good idea to say that out loud.”

He smelled like sunshine and the fresh outdoors. His long lashes created a shadow on his high cheeks as he returned to using his thumb to scroll the cell-phone screen. A part of her wanted to nuzzle her nose into his neck and feel that thumb lightly rubbing her shoulder. Even though he was obviously more interested in his electronic device than in human conversation, she couldn’t leave him alone.

“Are you a local?”

A tick or two passed before he answered. “Pretty much.”

She got the message. “Sorry to bother you.”

He set the phone on the bar top. “You’re not a bother. I’m just not good at small talk.”

“And I’m exactly the opposite. Being a writer by choice and curious by nature makes questions come easy.”

Handsome nodded, took a swig of beer. The bartender returned with two shot glasses. He explained the two choices he’d brought her—one light and citrusy, the other flavored with cloves.

She took a teeny sip of the first one, twisting her mouth in displeasure. “Would you toss me out if I stuck with water?”

The bartender laughed. “No way, pretty lady. There are other drinks on the menu.”

“I’ll have a look, thanks.” He moved on to another customer. She turned to Handsome and held out her hand. “My name’s Teresa.”

“Atka,” he responded, taking her hand and shaking it.

His grip was firm but brief. Too brief, she decided.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

“At. Ka. It’s from my native language.”

“Which is?”

“Yupik. My family are native Alaskans.”

Her eyes brightened. “Really? Tell me more.”

He frowned slightly, then reached for his phone and began scrolling. “Is that why you’re here, to write about the native Alaskan people?”

“I’m here to cover the state from a variety of angles and, yes, the people who live here is one of them.”

“It’s good that you will include those native to this land, but I am probably not the best person for that information. There are many languages and dozens of tribes. There’s a center on our culture that I could recommend.”

“Please do.” She reached for her phone and recorded the name of the center he gave her. Then, sensing his private nature, she changed the subject.

“Any menu recommendations?”

He visibly relaxed. “You can’t go wrong with any of the seafood entrées. Though I usually get the land and sea Oscar. Gives you a little bit of everything.”

Teresa read the dish’s description. “Wow...salmon, crab prawns and a filet? Sounds like a hearty meal.”

“You won’t leave hungry.”

Conversation centered around the menu until they’d made their choices. The bartender returned, took their orders, poured a fresh beer for Atka and was gone again.

“So, how was it growing up here?” Putting up her hands against any objections, she hurriedly continued, “Off the record, if you’d like. I’m not on the clock right now.”

He took a swig of beer. “It’s not the same experience as that of kids in the lower 48.” He eyed her and smiled warmly. “And probably much different than yours.”

She nodded as the bartender brought her lemonade, took a sip and asked, “In what way?”

“It’s a simpler life, calmer life. Lots of outdoor activities—hunting, fishing, skiing, boating, the dream life for any kid. My family would take road trips to Portage, Twentymile or any number of other glaciers, or go bear and deer hunting in Prince William Sound.” At her slight grimace, he continued, “I know. For most it’s not politically correct, but in Alaska, killing animals is not only a way of life but for some a necessity to survive. The native people wouldn’t have made it had it not been for the food the animal provided and the trade its fur maintained.”

She nodded. “I understand. My great-great-grandfather was part of the gold rush, and passed down adventurous stories of killing bears and catching fish with his hands. My grandfather still lives in Louisiana, my family’s home state, and loves to fish and hunt, as do some of my brothers.” His expression was mysterious. “What?”

“I would have never guessed we’d have something in common.”

“See, books can’t always be judged by their covers.”

“Obviously.” She detected a slight lowering of his privacy wall. “It’s not only the hunting and fishing background our families share. Gold is what brought my ancestors to Alaska.”

Over the next hour, Teresa learned about the Athabascan, Yupik and Inupiat peoples, as well as some cultural places she might find interesting. By the time they’d finished dinner, Teresa thought Atka had more than earned it and insisted on buying their meals.

“You saved me from a boring dinner with my smartphone,” she joked, casting the smile that had melted a thousand hearts. “I enjoyed your stories and appreciate all you shared.” She also appreciated that because of his eventual comfort with sharing his culture, very little had to be shared about herself.

“I enjoyed the conversation, as well, and while I appreciate your generosity, paying for my meal is unnecessary. I eat here often and have a running tab.” He stood. “It was nice to meet you, Teresa. Good luck on your assignment.”

“Thank you, Atka. It was great meeting you, too.”

She watched him walk out and noticed more than a few pairs of female eyes watching him, too. A tall, tanned, sexy Alaskan? Call her stupid, but really, who knew?

She flagged over the bartender. “Everything was delicious. Can I get my bill?”

“Already taken care of, pretty lady.”

“By whom?”

“Atka.” He winked. “I’m glad you enjoyed.”

Atka. For the rest of the night that name and the face attached to it weren’t far from her thoughts. He was interesting, mysterious and seemingly not at all interested. She’d tossed out a few hints during the evening, and even though she’d learned he was in the fishing business, he’d not bitten once. Not even a nibble. Paid for her meal, and hadn’t wanted anything in return. She’d not met anyone quite like him, and wished she’d thought to give him her card. It probably wouldn’t have mattered. Crazy, but the thought of never seeing him again caused her a twinge of sadness.

The next morning, however, duty called. During the ninety-minute flight from Anchorage to Dillingham, Teresa tweaked her article on Paul Campbell, juggling how to portray him as an Alaskan political mover and shaker within the confines of a human-interest story. Dicey journalistic terrain, but Teresa found a way to traverse it.

By the time they landed, she felt the piece was nearly perfect. She decided to get settled in at the bed-and-breakfast— which, after discovering there were no hotels there, the newspaper had located and secured—then finish and send the article and then, if time allowed, do a little sightseeing and picture-taking. Photos always enhanced a story, and Teresa had to admit that some of the scenery was breathtaking.

It took her longer than anticipated to finish the article, but thanks to the long Alaska days this time of year, there was still plenty of sunlight. Teresa ate a light meal, layered her clothing, grabbed her camera and set out for the Dillingham attractions that Atka had suggested. Ten minutes into the boat ride to the State Game Sanctuary on Walrus Island erased all of Teresa’s preconceived notions about disliking Alaska and not looking forward to arriving at the last frontier. She’d even jokingly called it “my first and last time there,” when Jennifer had referred to Alaska by its nickname. But the scene before her—crystal-blue water, fluffy white clouds and varied shades of terrestrial greenery—was postcard perfect. She took picture after picture, totally captivated by the uncorrupted beauty. Her transportation resembled less the yacht on which she last hit the water and more the fishing boat her grandpa used when catching crawdads in Louisiana, yet the sights were so magnificent that she truly didn’t mind. She was as surprised as anyone would have been. She didn’t like fishing boats or crawfish.

After one of the most peaceful afternoons she’d had in a very long time, the adventuresome child who’d run barefoot across her grandfather’s lawn had reemerged from an obscure place in Teresa’s past. She returned to town and continued her explorations. The town itself failed to hold her interest. In terms of population, Paradise Cove wasn’t that much larger, although the B and B manager said fishermen and tourists swelled the numbers during the summer months. He also told her of a few sites she could check before visiting the fisheries tomorrow, so she rented a scooter and, per the B and B manager, went traipsing to a spot he said offered spectacular landside views.

He was right. She scooted and snapped, and for the first time since meeting him forgot about Atka, forgot about not having had a serious relationship in almost a year and, more importantly, she forgot George, the reason why she’d taken a break from dating. So absorbed was she in doing her job, at first she didn’t realize the temp had dropped and it had started to snow, a fact that made the landscape appear even more magical.

She looked beyond her and saw a small crest that would afford her a perfect image of the town for her corresponding story. Just one more shot.

The terrain became too rough for the scooter, so she placed it by a tree and continued on foot. Reaching her destination, she climbed the low precipice and quickly snapped several shots. Stepping back and crouching down, she maneuvered the camera so that the main buildings, surrounding terrain and water could all get in the shot. One more step back and she’d have it.

That one step back sent her careening down a trench that had gone unnoticed, twisting her foot in a way that caused so much pain she temporarily blacked out.

Chapter 3

Atka stopped and breathed in the crisp evening air. Here, on the outskirts of this small town amid lightly falling snow, he almost felt at peace again. As if the call from his mother that had him miss spending the day hunting with his grandfather and instead backtracking to Anchorage barely a day into his minivacation wasn’t enough, the woman he’d met last night—after being assured that his mother’s chest pains were just a bad case of gas—had caused a special kind of torture. On one hand, he hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. On the other, hers was the kind of face he hoped never to forget.

Forget it, Atka, he told himself. A city girl like her would never want a frontier guy like you.

A thud. He knew he’d heard one, or something, just ahead of him. But he was here now, at the precipice that had been his destination, a quiet area on the outskirts of Dillingham—or Curyung, as it was called in Yupik— where he could almost always count on spotting some of the more than two hundred species of birds that inhabited the state. Sure enough, he’d seen both a brown-winged sparrow and a black-backed woodpecker and had heard the sounds of songbirds resting in nearby trees. Earlier, he’d spotted a starling and a brown-headed cowbird. It had taken him a while to recall its moniker. But his apaaq would be proud.

A moan. His breath stopped. Nothing, not even a hair on his head, seemed to move. He became one with nature—the ground, the trees, the wind. And something else. Something warm and breathing and...oh-h-h-h-h!...in pain.

The sound spurred Atka into action. His long, lean legs quickly ate up the distance between him and where he’d heard the moaning. The snow had increased, going from tiny specks to giant flakes blanketing the ground. Dry grass crunched under his booted footsteps. His eyes scanned from left to right, searching for a sign of life on the deserted streets.

“Help!”

It was soft, almost inaudible. But his ears, strained and alert, had heard it. To his right, and a bit behind him. He doubled back, moving closer to the precipice he’d walked farther down.

“Where are you?” His voice was loud yet calming, authoritative yet filled with concern. And then he saw her.

He shook his head as if to clear it from what was surely a vision, a mirage brought on by the snow and the cold. There’s no way it could be her. Except it was. Teresa. She lay there, raven hair splayed against the snow, her foot at an awkward angle. The cold and snow had painted her bronze cheeks rosy. The grimace on her face did not mar her beauty. She looked like an angel, though a broken one.

Through the haze of disbelief came a disturbing thought. Had she wrangled information about who he was from Joe the bartender and followed him here? Was she determined to make him a part of her newspaper story? Or even worse, was she one of those materialistic women who, after finding out about his wealth, determined to add money from his bank account to her own? A barking dog snapped him back to the present and the urgent issue at hand. She was in trouble. He could rescue her. His questions and suspicions would have to wait.

“Stay still. I’ll help you.”

The cavern was fairly steep, but Atka, who not only often worked alongside his fishermen but worked out regularly, navigated it with no problem. He reached the wounded stranger, quickly assessed her legs and ankle, and believed the ankle badly sprained but not broken.

Her eyes fluttered, opened and widened in surprise. His heart melted a little more.

“Moving you is going to hurt, but you’ve got to get out of the elements to someplace warm and dry.”

“I’m...it’s...”

“Shh. Save your energy, Teresa. Don’t try to talk. I’ll make a splint and secure your ankle as much as possible.”

He found a sturdy limb, pulled out his knife and smoothed its surface. Then he reached beneath his leather jacket and sweatshirt to his undershirt and ripped off the bottom. Returning to her, he gingerly yet quickly stabilized her leg as much as possible.

“Put your arms around my neck. I’m going to lift you.”

She did as he’d asked. Picking her up was effortless. Though she was covered from head to toe in denim and sheepskin, he sensed her curves, imagined soft skin.

“Ah-h-h-h!” She wrapped her arms tighter, burying her head in his neck against the pain.

Atka mentally kicked himself for daydreaming. Now was not the time. Yet something in his heart shifted in that moment. I will ask the spirit guides to help you. Children soon come. Ridiculous. Improbable. Highly unlikely. He dismissed the thought of his grandmother’s words proving prophetic. Pure silliness. Her being here was coincidence. Wasn’t it? Or was it something more treacherous? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had used business as a way to try to get close to him. He’d ignored them, but was well aware of last night’s subtle flirtations. Maybe their conversation hadn’t been as off the record as she claimed. Or maybe she was going to try to use what he’d shared to a more personal advantage.

He searched the area for signs of life. Any other time, someone he knew would be passing by, on their way home or to the grocer. Tonight, there was not a moving car or another person in sight. She shivered. He glanced down as she covered her ears with the end of her scarf, noted her delicate finger and painted nail visible through a hole in her woolen gloves. Snagged on something during the fall, he imagined, even as he wondered how she got here alone. This woman didn’t look like someone who worked. She looked well kept. Maybe not even a writer at all, but here with her millionaire boyfriend on business, out to have a little fun. The immediate surge of jealousy surprised him. The scent she wore assailed him. Without thinking or asking, he headed away from town and to his cabin, less than a mile away.

* * *

Even through her haze of agony, she’d noticed. Strong jawline, covered by the shadow of a two-day-old beard. Full lips. Shocking dark blue, almost black eyes. The face of the man she thought she’d never see again. Atka. Like a guardian angel he’d rescued her from a literal depth of despair. Here she was, in the wilderness, being carried by a near stranger to God knew where. Yet inexplicably she felt safe, almost peaceful. Even though her ankle throbbed. Relentlessly. She doubted her rescuer and thought it broken.

“Where’s the nearest hospital?” she managed to say through chattering teeth.

He pulled the woolen scarf she wore over her mouth. “Keep covered to stay warm. We’re almost there.”

In truth, the Kanakanak Hospital wasn’t too far away. But still in the throes of an unusual possessiveness and, yes, even a bit of selfishness, Atka alone wanted to tend her. The thought of another man touching her smooth, sun-kissed skin was something he didn’t want to contemplate. Plus, he knew that one look at her by the resident doctor, a newly transplanted playboy popular with the ladies, and the angel might have more than an ankle to mend.

He reached his one-room sanctuary and hurried inside, placing her gingerly on the couch that doubled as his bed. He removed her coat, noted her soaked clothing and quickly covered all but her injured ankle with several quilts, used a pillow to elevate the swollen ankle, then retrieved an instant ice pack and a bottle of ibuprofen from a kitchen cabinet. In another cabinet was a bottle of water. He reached for it and the first-aid kit and returned to Teresa’s side.

“Just lie back. Try to relax and focus on your breathing, not the pain. We need to get that ankle on ice as quickly as possible. Removing your boot and sock will hurt a bit. I am sorry.”

Teresa grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Soon, one tear and then another made its way down the side of her face. She’d not made a sound, yet something caused Atka to look at her. He set the boot he’d removed on the floor and reached a hand to the side of her face. “I am so sorry, papoota taya. The ice and medicine will help lessen the pain.”

His touch was tender, his expression sincere, stirring something within her heart. He was unlike the boisterous alpha men she usually went for, yet the strangely strong attraction she felt toward him could not be denied. Around him again for only a matter of minutes but Teresa was sure she’d never met anyone quite like him. She was also certain that she didn’t want this to be the last time they spent together. A feeling so inappropriate that Teresa began to wonder if during the fall she hadn’t also hit her head and knocked the sense right out of it.

Atka abruptly pulled back his hand and refocused his attention on her injured foot. It was singularly the most painful yet erotic experience she’d ever had. He removed her sock and held her injured foot as if it was made of glass. His touch was soothing to the point of healing. They’d just met the night before, yet she was experiencing ludicrous imaginings that they’d known each other a long time, weird feelings of closeness and a sense of completeness. Had she taken the pill, she could have blamed the medicine. But it still lay in her hand. The water remained on the table beside her. Still, the fall had obviously dislodged logic and common sense from their secure place in her brain. The scrambling had also dulled her senses, because now, with the tight boot off and the ice pack on her foot, the throbbing was considerably less. All this, and she didn’t even know his last name. Atka. The fisherman. The sexy Alaskan who was making her think crazy thoughts about staying in Alaska.

He stood and walked to the fireplace. Teresa watched his calm, economical movements, his tall frame moving with the grace of a dancer. He seemed refined, worldly, yet built a fire in what she swore was under a minute. Her brother Warren, the cowboy of the family, with five wood-burning fireplaces in his home, couldn’t beat that time. Who are you and what are you doing to me?

“How did you find me?”

Atka stood, dusted bits of kindling from his hands as he turned around. His face was a mask. “I could ask that same question.”

She frowned, and not from pain. “You think I went looking for you at the bottom of a ditch?”

“That obviously happened in the midst of your search for...whatever.”

“I was searching for the perfect shot! I was trying to capture the—my camera! Did you see it?” She frantically looked around her. “Oh, my goodness. It’s probably still in the ditch. I’ve got to—” She gasped as pain shot up the leg she’d just tried to move.

He noticed immediately and was back by her side. “Stop moving! I’ll go find the camera. Did you take the ibuprofen?”

She shook her head. “Shouldn’t I go to the hospital, and make sure my ankle isn’t broken?”

“It isn’t broken, but if you’d feel...safer there...then by all means.” He turned off the fire under the teapot and walked over to where he’d hung his coat.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

He gave her body a quick, almost imperceptible once-over, his eyes intense and unreadable. A squiggle ran from her core to her heart. She shivered. His eyes narrowed. “Of course you are. I understand. You’re alone with a stranger in a one-room cabin. It’s totally understandable and in hindsight it was thoughtless of me to bring you here. Forgive me. My only concern was to get you out of the elements before a deep chill set in, and to get ice on that ankle.” He lifted his sheep-lined leather jacket from the coatrack. “We can go now, and pick up your camera on the way.”

The thought of leaving him filled her with an inexplicable sadness. And more, as crazy and inappropriate as it was, she’d fall in the cavern again, and risk a broken bone, for time in the presence of this strange man who was making her think and do strange things.

She reached for the bottle of pills. “Just go get the camera. I’ll take two of these and see if I feel better. If not, we can go when you get back.”

* * *

Atka jumped into his Jeep, returned to the spot of her fall, found the camera and drove back to his home. It took less than five minutes.

He walked in shaking snow from the camera half-buried when he’d arrived. “Here you go. If the moisture from the snow hasn’t got inside of it, you should be fine. How do you feel? Better?”

He looked at her with a hopeful look on his face.

“That was pretty quick. The ibuprofen have hardly had time to work their magic. I can stay for a little while. Like I said before, I’m not afraid of you.”

The smile was barely perceptible. “That’s good to know. It’s natural that you’d want a doctor to examine you and reassure you that nothing is broken. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you now? I’ve still got on my coat. The Jeep is warm. I can have you there in no time.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to leave because you’re afraid?”

A bigger smile, then. Amused. Predatory. “My dear papoota princess, I am not afraid of anything.”

Their eyes met. A second passed. Two. Ten.

“Then I’ll stay.”

One sentence. Three words. They would prove to be a game changer.

Chapter 4

He wasn’t afraid, but she made him nervous. This in and of itself wasn’t unusual. Atka was shy and introverted, homeschooled until his high school years with only a handful of romantic liaisons in his twenty-eight years. He’d known Mary since childhood. Once he’d returned home from college and found her a widow, dating had come naturally and been easy. This feeling Teresa evoked was more than awkward discomfort brought on by a case of nerves. Suspicions aside, there was something about this woman that moved him at a deep level and seeped into his soul. A part of his soul that had never been touched. Add the fact that it had been months since his last sexual encounter and it made it difficult to view this sexy city girl with raven hair splayed across the arm of his sofa sleeper as an injured patient he needed to tend, instead of the caramel vixen he wanted to ravish and keep here, locked away for his pleasure.

He wanted her. But he’d long learned to hide his feelings behind the facade of a strong jawline and unreadable eyes. He did so now. Took in her words, gave a brief nod and turned toward the kitchen area.

“I’ll make tea,” he said, reaching for a mug and a container filled with what looked to be loose tea. “This is a mix of teas and medicinal herbs concocted by my grandmother. Not the best-tasting brew in the world, but I guarantee you’ll feel better.”

“I feel a little better already.” Teresa eased herself up to a sitting position. “The ice pack and ibuprofen are easing the pain.”

Atka returned to the living area and sat in a comfortable chair, the base of which was made from oak logs. The back and bottom cushion were covered with a geometrically patterned fabric boasting bright primary colors, a welcome splash of color to the browns, blacks and grays of the other sparse furniture and decor.

Their eyes met. Silence fell. An awkward yet electric silence tinged with sexual tension and something else...something that later both would realize they had tried without success to define.

“For the record,” Teresa began, running a hand through her tresses, “I did not follow you here. Bristol Bay is home to the largest salmon fisheries in the country. I told you last night I would be coming here.”

“That was after I told you I was a fisherman.”

“Yes, but you didn’t tell me you fished in Bristol Bay! Look, dude, I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are, but I am the last woman on earth who’d go traipsing across Alaska looking for a fisherman, for God’s sake, just because his conversation was engaging and he bought me a meal. I’ll admit that you’re fine, and I didn’t know they made them like you in the wild frontier, but when you left, I had no idea where you’d gone, where you’d be going or when you’d get there. Nor did I care. Okay?”

His silence was deafening, broken only when he asked, “How do they make them here?”

“Really?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that statement.”

“Aw, the way you’re looking at me I almost believe you. TDH, dude.” He shrugged. “Tall. Dark. Handsome. Don’t act like you don’t know, because I’m sure there are many women who’ve told you.”

“Women say many things for many reasons.”

“Well, this woman only says what she means because she wants to be understood.”

“Why’d you say fisherman as though it’s such a bad thing.”

“No offense, Atka. Like I said, my grandfather, father, a couple brothers and several cousins would all be more than happy to join you on a boat. I’d be waving goodbye from the dock before heading to the spa.”

He nodded. “I see.”

“I hope you do. I’d never chase after a man. Either for professional or personal reasons.”

His eyes softened as he gazed at her. “For the record, it’s the last frontier.”

“What?”

“You called Alaska the wild frontier. It’s the last one.”

“If you say so, but it looks wild, too.”

He said nothing. Just crossed his arms and leaned back.

“This is weird.”

“What, lying in the home of a man you’ve known less than twenty-four hours in a small town probably thousands of miles from your home? What’s so strange about that?”

“Exactly.” She shivered, and pulled the quilt up to her neck.

“Then you’ll find what I’m thinking even more disconcerting,” he continued, his eyes narrowing, “though my intentions for these thoughts are absolutely honorable.”

She eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. “What are you thinking?”

“That you really need to get out of those wet clothes.”

The statement was punctuated by the crackling of a log that split and tumbled into the flames.

Spielberg couldn’t have directed a more perfect moment.

“Honorable, huh?” She frowned, but her voice was teasing. “Sounds like a line to me, and a tired one, at that.”

He smiled broadly now, revealing a set of perfect pearly whites, which, against his tanned skin, fairly sparkled. As did his eyes. “I thought you might. You’re the type of woman I’m sure most men find irresistible, and wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a line for your affections. But I promise to be the perfect gentleman that my grandparents and parents raised.”

“Because you don’t find me attractive?”

“Apparently, flashy baubles aren’t the only thing you fish for.” She fixed him with an expression that he couldn’t quite read. He hoped he hadn’t offended her. “I find you very attractive.” He stood and walked over to her, removed the quilts one by one and placed them on the floor beside him. “So you should appreciate the restraint it will take for me to help get you out of these wet clothes without taking advantage of the fact that you are at my mercy.”

Teresa’s back stiffened. Her eyes blazed. “Don’t let the lipstick fool you. The size of my ankle may now be rivaling that of my head, but I still have enough wherewithal to defend myself. I have six rough-and-tumble brothers who’ve taught me to hold my own no matter what.”

“Even more reason for me to mind my manners. If you’d like, I can carry you to the bathroom and bring in something for you to wear. They won’t bear designer labels, but they will be warm and dry.”

“Yes. I’d appreciate that.”

He lifted her and, once again, a surge of electricity seemed to swirl around them. Her lips, so close to the neck she’d imagined nuzzling against last night, ached to make contact. Being in his arms made her feel safe and loved. Teresa closed her eyes against the emotions that unexpectedly surged in her chest. Have eight months without sex left you this horny, Teresa, feening for a man that you hardly know? A handsome man, no less, one who looked as though were he trapped in the wilderness, he could kill a bear, start a fire and cook its meat—in other words, a man who could take care of his family as well as himself.

Stop being pathetic.

The bathroom surprised her. With the room they’d just left being so rustic, the slate-tile floor, separate shower with rain showerhead and large, soaking tub was unexpected.

“Are you sure you can manage?”

“I’ll try.”

He put down the toilet lid and sat her down. “If you need anything, I’ll be right outside.”

He closed the door and took a breath. The scent wafting up from Teresa’s warm flesh had his body reacting like a schoolboy’s. It had taken every ounce of self-discipline to prevent a full-on hard-on. He walked briskly to the kitchen, pulled a bottle of cold water from the fridge and drank half in one gulp. The water assuaged his thirst but did nothing for the flame of desire raging in his body. Lying to himself would serve no purpose. He wanted to ravish her mouth, taste every part of her body.

But he couldn’t. Not only was the woman a stranger with a possible agenda, she was injured. He would never take advantage of anyone during their time of weakness. No matter how soft yet strong at the same time. No matter how sexy.

“Excuse me?”

Six strong strides and he was back at the door. “Yes, Teresa.”

“I, um, I need your help.”

He braced himself, opened the door and took in the problem immediately. The desire that stabbed him in the groin was tempered by the helpless look in her doe-brown eyes. He crossed over, knelt before her and reached for the hem of her jeans.

“Why do you women like wearing your pants so tight? I’m not complaining,” he hurriedly added. “It’s just what’s causing the problem right now.”

“It’s a magic material called spandex. The pants look tight but aren’t. Plus, they flatter almost every figure. That’s why they’re so pop—ouch!”

“I’m so sorry.” He looked up at her. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ruin your favorite pants. Your ankle is too swollen to get the pant leg over.”

He kept his eyes on the pant hem. Up any farther, to her bared knee or, heaven forbid, the flawless thigh above it and the creamy rounded hip he glimpsed that alluded to a thong being worn in place of panties, and keeping a rein on his libido would be at serious risk.

“That’s fine. Whatever I have to do to get back on the couch and elevate my foot. It’s starting to throb again.”

Her words sent him into action. He went to a cabinet for scissors and made quick work of ridding Teresa of her pants.

Had he known how his body would react at the sight of her near nakedness, he would have gone more slowly.

“Let me get you something to wear.”

He walked over to the closet and came back with a flannel shirt. “This is all I have. I hope it’s enough. I don’t keep much here and usually only bring clothes for a couple days.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you.”

For the second time, he left Teresa alone in the bathroom. Atka wasn’t a drinker. But right now he needed a stiff drink to calm down his stiff member. He went to the cabinet and was thankful to see a bottle of wine on the shelf. Pulling down the bottle and a couple wineglasses, he knew one thing for sure.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 5

A short time later, a flanneled, warm and dry Teresa was once again sitting on the couch, slowly sipping tea that had been steeping. “Yuck! What’s in this stuff?”

Atka laughed out loud. “Hey, I’m impressed that you didn’t spit it out. That’s happened more than once.” With chopped garlic, onions and green peppers at the ready, he reached for a package of meat, dumped the contents into a bowl and began to season it. “Emaaq has never revealed the entire recipe, but it is inspired by a well-known brew in our community called tundra tea, which comes from the Labrador tea plant. It also contains wormwood, which will help to lessen the inflammation from the sprain, and yarrow root, which will relieve the pain and make you sleepy. Not so that I can take advantage of you, but because sleep is a healer. Those are a couple of several herbs and roots she’s combined in this concoction.”

“Who’s Emma?”

“The word is emaaq. It means grandmother in the Yupik language.”

“Oh. This tea came from her?”

“Yes.”

“Are your traditions similar to that of Native Americans’?”

“Some are.”

She continued to sip the tea, watching as Atka diced the meat and placed it in the pot containing the onion mixture before chopping potatoes and onions to go in, as well.

“It smells good. Did your emaaq teach you how to cook?”

“Both of my grandparents cook, and quite well.”

“I think I’m starting to feel the effects of your grandmother’s brew.”

He turned. “How is your ankle?”

She smiled. Her eyelids lowered into a come-hither look Atka was sure Teresa did not mean to convey. But he wanted to obey the look anyway and join her on the couch, replacing the quilt with his body for warmth, licking drops of tea from her lips with his tongue.

Still, he maintained discipline and showed restraint by refocusing on the stew that he was preparing. By the time he brought a piping-hot bowl over to the couch where Teresa sat, her eyes had lowered shut.

For a minute, he just stood there, staring. He noticed the mug containing the tea set on the coffee table, empty. He knew that she’d sleep well tonight. As for him? On a makeshift pallet on the floor? He doubted it.

“Teresa?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open, slid from his face to his crotch and back up to his eyes. Desire flashed, intense and unapologetic, just before rationality gained a foothold and she came to her senses.

He set the bowl on the rough-hewn table. “You need to eat. The tea is strong, and without food, will upset your stomach. Here, let me help you shift your position by elevating your foot on the table.” He placed down the pillow and her foot upon it, repositioning the bounty of quilts, as well.

“I really don’t need them,” Teresa said, softly blowing the steaming spoonful. “I’m warm now.”

Atka was more than warm. He was on fire. His mind filled with thoughts on how to extinguish the flame.

“I’m going to have a glass of wine. Do you want one?”

Teresa shook her head. “I’d better not. That tea has me woozy. But my ankle feels better.”

Atka picked up his wine and soup and joined Teresa in the living room.

“This is good,” she told him.

“Thank you.”

“This is definitely not the way I planned to spend my evening in Dillingham, Alaska.”

“How did you plan to spend it?”

She shrugged. “On my computer, working, and preparing the interviews I’ll be conducting tomorrow.”

Interviews. Right. She was a journalist, here on assignment. Seeing her in his home, with tousled hair and wearing his flannel shirt, it was hard to remember to stay on guard.

“What companies were you planning on visiting?”

“The Sinclair Salmon Company, for one. There are a couple others, but I don’t remember the names right now.”

He tried to keep his voice neutral and void of the heightened suspicion now racking his brain. “What stands out about the Sinclair company, you know, that made it one you remember.”

“It’s the largest one here and by far the most successful. My paper tried to get an interview with the owner, but he declined. So I was going to take the visitor tour, and then try to get an impromptu meeting with either the store manager or one of the fishermen. There are questions about that lifestyle that I’d love to ask you, being a fisherman and all, but you’d probably believe I fell in the hole and broke my ankle just to get the interview.”

“I may have believed that earlier. Not now. I am quiet by nature, but there are reasons for my privacy.”

“No worries. Even though I’m a reporter, I’m a respectable one. I won’t use unscrupulous means to get a story. You’re a private person. I respect that. I’ve been on the other side, and know what it’s like to be hounded.”

Atka’s brow arched. “Really? How so?” She hesitated, nibbled her lower lip. “I’m sorry. Here I am not wanting to be asked questions and then doing that very thing.”

She smiled. “It’s okay. I’m glad to see that you’re curious. It means you’re human.”

He watched as she finished the last of the hearty beef stew. “Where’d you go today?”

“The state game sanctuary.”

“Ah, the walruses.”

“You’ve been there?”

“A time or two. How’d you like it?”

“The boat ride there was awesome. But as far as I’m concerned, if you’ve seen one sea lion, you’ve seen them all. I was looking forward to visiting the fisheries and shipping home seafood. That salmon last night was the best I’d ever eaten.”

“What’s your favorite type of salmon?”

“Don’t have one. Until coming here, I didn’t know there were so many.”

“So your visit was to include the fisheries, and what else?”

Her face fell in disappointment. “I was supposed to visit the Mantanuska Glacier. But from the looks of my ankle, and how it has swelled, that’s a trek I’ll also have to cancel.”

“Unfortunately, yes. You’ll need to stay off that foot for several days.”

“I can’t stay here that long.” The statement came out in a panicked rush.

Atka chuckled. “You won’t have to. Tomorrow we’ll get you to the hospital and outfitted with crutches. You’ll be able to get around much better after that.” Her relief was visible as she leaned against the back of the couch.

“How’d you decide on Alaska as the place to write about?”

“I didn’t. My editor did. Alaska is a popular vacation destination, but wasn’t on my bucket list at all.”

“I can believe that. You don’t strike me as a rugged outdoorswoman who likes to hunt and fish.”

“Not unless I’m hunting for a bargain or fishing for the right-carat diamond to put in a jewelry setting.”

He smiled, nodding. “Now, that I can imagine.” The teakettle whistled. “Excuse me. I’ll refill your tea.”

After placing the loose tea into an infuser, he brought the mug over to the table. “It’s best to let it steep for a few minutes, to unlock the healing magic within the leaves.” He winked and returned to the chair.

“Tell me more about your family. Off the record. I hope you don’t mind my asking. You’re different than any guy I’ve ever met. I get the feeling your family and upbringing might have something to do with it. That’s why I’m asking.”

He nodded. “You are right. My grandparents especially have had a huge impact on how I see life. As I’ve already stated, my family is Yupik, with ties to the land that go back more than a thousand years.”

“That’s amazing. You can trace your history back that far?”

“Through our stories, we can. However, we can only provide documents for as far back as the seventeenth century, when my ancestors arrived from Siberia and Romania.”

“Arctic countries! So, for you, this cold weather is just a walk in the park. The Romanian connection also explains the darker tone to your skin.”

“That, and the fact that my father is black.”

She didn’t try to hide her surprise. “And he lives here...in Alaska?”

“Ha! I’ll admit that brothers aren’t running here in droves, but yes, he’s lived here for over forty years. An oil-rig gig offering excellent pay lured him here in the early seventies. Six months later he met my mom and Alaska became his home. My parents and three of my five siblings are scattered across the state.”

“I come from a big family, too. There are eight of us.”

“Rare to hear about big families these days so...that’s pretty cool.”

Teresa yawned.

“Looks like someone is ready for sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Between the tea and the stew, yes, I’m about knocked out.”

“Then let me get the bed ready.”

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