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She’d barely gotten to sleep under the thick down comforter that hugged her body with a delicious warmth. She poked one finger out from under the covers and tugged at the comforter until she could peek out.
    A pale sliver of weak sunlight filtered through a crack between the drawn drapes. It didn’t look as though it had a very good grasp on the day. She sighed and snuggled back into the warm nest she’d created for herself.Surely no sane person would be out at this hour of the morning. It must be a mistake.
    The pounding started again and an all-too-familiar voice called out her name.
    She groaned and buried her face in the pillow. She’d been right. It wasn’t a sane person. It was David Mark et cetera. How could a man who’d gotten off the same plane that she had only a few short hours ago be on her doorstep at this hour? He either had a terrific metabolism that didn’t require sleep or a sadistic streak a mile long. She suspected that anyone who willingly lived where he had to dig his car out of snow drifts on a regular basis was sadistic, masochistic and probably all sorts of other disturbed things as well. He probably belonged in an institution that treated such disorders. He definitely did not belong in her hotel room. Not at this hour.
    â€œOut of bed, bright eyes,” a husky voice called to her, then added hopefully, “Unless you’d like me to come on in and join you.”
    Another interesting thought, her muddled mind said, mulling it over before her rational side noted that he was already turning the handle of the door. Her eyes widening with shock, she realized that the knob was not onlyturning, but the door was opening. One size-eleven foot, clad in a cowboy boot, stepped onto blue carpeting leaving disgusting little droplets of melting snow. By the time the rest of Mark Channing—she was going to have to get used to calling him that—followed, she was kneeling in bed, the comforter clutched tightly around her, her eyes flashing dangerous sparks.
    â€œWhat the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in as ferocious a voice as she could manage after being awakened from a sound sleep by a madman. She sounded a little like a pesky Chihuahua, all snap and very little muscle.
    â€œPicking you up for breakfast,” he said calmly, black eyes drifting appreciatively over her bare shoulders and down, lingering at the spot on her surprisingly ample chest where the comforter was just barely keeping her decent. “I thought you’d be ready by now.”
    â€œBy now?” she repeated incredulously. “It’s the middle of the night.”
    â€œIt’s nearly nine o’clock. If you sleep much longer, I’ll have to take you to lunch,and we won’t have nearly enough time for skiing.”
    Lindsay’s gaze flew to the sickly stream of daylight, then back to Mark. She glared at him accusingly. “That’s all the strength your sun out here can muster up at nine in the morning?”
    â€œIt’s clear and brighter in the mountains. You should have seen the sky at daybreak,” he enthused. “It was all grays and pinks and oranges. It would have made a great painting.”
    â€œDaybreak?” Her voice took on a decided squeak. Suddenly the rest of Mark’s words began to register. With something akin to horror, Lindsay began to shake her head.
    â€œNo,” she said firmly. “No mountains! No skiing!”
    â€œBut it’s beautiful. And skiing is fun. You’re going to love it.”
    â€œI won’t love it.” She snapped out each word emphatically.
    â€œWe’ll talk about it over breakfast.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to talk about.”
    He nodded. “We’ll see,” he said soothingly. “Now you get dressed and I’ll help you pack your things.”
    â€œPack my things?” She did not want his masculine, ruggedly virile hands sifting through