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woods, found nothing amiss, and then he followed her into his home and shut the door behind them.

Chapter Three
     
    Quinn Masters was far more than Grace had been prepared for.
    She could feel the heat from his stare as he followed her into the cabin, and her skin felt like it was on fire. The moment she’d lifted her head and seen him striding toward her, she’d known she was in trouble. The lithe glide of his muscular body across the bare ground, the riveting intensity of his dark eyes, his hard jaw, his dauntingly broad shoulders…she was way out of her league.
    His presence radiated strength and power, his eyes burned with sharp intelligence, and his body pulsed with raw maleness that took root deep in her soul. One sight of him, and she’d been consumed with such intense desire she’d been unable to do anything but stare, her pulse jumping with each step that had brought him closer to her.
    The door closed with the softest click, and Grace jumped. She was locked in. With him. On his turf.
    For a moment, there was no movement behind her, and she knew he was standing by the door, not moving, not talking. Waiting? Watching?
    Her heart started to hammer with fear and a sensual awareness that had no business existing in a moment like this. Sweat broke out on her palms, despite the intense cold still racking her body. Come on, Grace, pull it together.
    She made herself look around the cabin, forcing herself to see him as a man, not an immortal warrior who could rattle her with one, scorching look.
    It was a one room cabin, a small space that didn’t seem large enough for the enormity of his presence. She saw a utility kitchen in one corner. Okay, Grace, see? He makes food. That’s pretty ordinary, right? A queen bed took up most of the remaining space, and a closed door led to what must have been the bathroom. Her gaze went back to the bed, and she felt her cheeks burning as she forced herself to turn away.
    Taking up one entire wall was a huge stone fireplace, and a thick, braided rug covered the hearth. The rug looked soft and inviting, and she had a sudden vision of flames reaching up high in that fireplace, of golden light flickering over Quinn’s skin, of her stretching out beside him on that rug— Oh, God, Grace! What is wrong with you?
    She jerked around, hoping desperately he couldn’t read her mind, her embarrassing and completely out of character “Calydon Fan Girl” thoughts.
    Quinn was standing in front of the closed door, water dripping from his leather jacket and dark jeans. He flicked the water out of his hair with a quick jerk of his head. Outside, he had seemed large, a man who could control the very forest surrounding them. Inside the small space, he was indomitable. His gray T-shirt was drenched, plastered to his muscular chest. Whiskers shadowed his jaw. But it was his eyes that once again compelled her.
    They were dark, almost black, and he was watching her with such intense focus she felt like she would never be able to shake him.
    She lifted her chin. “I’m Grace Matthews.”
    He raised one dark eyebrow and a muscle ticked in his cheek. “Grace Matthews,” he repeated softly, almost as if he were rolling her name around in his mouth and sampling it, like the most delectable offering.
    His voice was deep and rough, and goose bumps popped up on her arms. He was so male, so tough, and yet his voice seemed to thrum through her, easing the fear licking at her composure and her focus. She managed her first deep breath in hours, and he nodded with satisfaction. “You’re cold,” he observed.
    She became aware of how violently she was shaking and how tightly she was hugging herself. A man like Quinn Masters would have no time for someone who was weak. She quickly pried her arms away from her body and shoved her hands in her pockets. “I’m fine,” she said firmly. “Just a little chilly.”
    He smiled then, a brief flash that made his whole face soften and relax. “Are you now?” He