Someone wiggled her good leg. "You need to wake up for a moment," a deep baritone coaxed.
Her eyes fluttered open to see the room dark, except for the flickering firelight. A black silhouette sat in a chair near the bed so his back was to the fire.
"Alright. I just needed to wake you because of the concussion. Go back to sleep," he said.
His voice was familiar—the one from last night. It sounded so soothing and warm, like a fuzzy mink blanket wrapping around her. She shivered, but not from the cold. He must have noticed because he stepped forward and pulled the covers up higher to her chin. Those hands weren't that of an older man, but of one in his prime—his hands were large and strong with veins chiseled to perfection that wove down to long, elegant fingers. Her eyes traveled up the sleeve of his white dress shirt, which did little to hide his corded arms. Very broad shoulders led up to...blackness and her own reflection where eyes should be. She startled.
He backed up to his chair near the foot of the bed and sat. "It's only sunglasses."
She frowned. He wouldn't be able to see in a room this dark.
"How are you feeling?" His silhouette appeared to sit back in the chair and rest his elbows on the chair arms.
"The codeine helps. Are you Mr. Port?" She pushed herself up a bit to recline against the pillows.
"Yes. Jason Port. And you're Emma...?"
She wanted to squirm, somehow feeling his eyes intently focused on her. "Hoplin." Her eyes narrowed. She had a bone to pick with him. "Trudy was a bit elusive when I asked how I ended up in this bed unclothed."
"I undressed you."
He said it so matter of fact and didn't seem embarrassed about taking such liberties. She swallowed hard.
"I didn't do anything improper. Besides stripping you."
Her face burned in embarrassment. "You're goading me."
"You flush quite nicely when goaded," he replied simply.
The flush grew, but it didn't stem from embarrassment this time. "You're a bit presumptuous to take such liberties."
"Ms. Van Hoodie was indisposed, Ms. Hopkin, and you needed to be checked immediately for injuries."
There was nothing to be done about it now even if he had peeked at her. "Trudy was also elusive about how I arrived here."
"Ms. Van Hoodie can be trying." He sounded slightly exasperated.
She frowned, not meaning anything against the woman. "Oh, no. She's very friendly and kind; she spoke very highly of you when she did reference you. Although I can't imagine why," she mumbled the last bit to herself.
"I happened to be coming home with my driver and spotted a glimpse of a glowing red taillight. You're quite lucky that a random tree was growing there. It kept your car from going off the cliff. The roads were impassible, so we dug you out ourselves and had to bring you here. As soon as the storm clears, you'll be flown to a hospital."
She flushed under his intense tone. "I don't think a hospital is necessary to trouble you with—"
"You'll be flown to a hospital for a scan to make sure you don't have any brain damage. Even the Navy Seals won't come out in this storm right now." His tone left no room for argument.
Had he actually called the Navy Seals? No, that wasn't possible. He seemed a bit used to getting his way and like he didn't appreciate the protesting, though. Well, she didn't need manhandling. Raising her chin, she said, "I'd like to call my family. They're expecting me tomorrow. Trudy said there is no cell phone reception. I'd like to use your landline." She had the feeling he cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Landlines do not reach this high in the mountains. The cell tower is down with this storm. As soon as it's up, you may call whoever you wish."
Her eyes narrowed. "Trudy said you were on the phone this morning calling for a flight to the hospital."
"The tower has since gone down. We've received three feet of snow thus far, and the storm shows no sign of finishing soon." He sounded irritated. Then he stood and spun around to walk to the far side of the room, melting into the shadows. A chair creaked. "I can appreciate your apprehension being trapped in a stranger's house. As soon as Ms. Van Hoodie has a decent night's sleep, I'll have her take my place in waking you each hour." He sounded patient again.
She didn't feel frightened around him, simply...like he could see right through her. It was unnerving. "Thank you, Mr. Port. For the rescue," she said sincerely.
He remained silent for a moment. His voice softened to a warm baritone. "You're welcome, Ms. Hoplin. I'll be here should you require anything."
A delicious shiver ran down her spine; his voice was like an intimate caress. Instinct whispered that he'd keep safe watch through the night. She slid down in bed a bit and winced when her ankle caught in the sheet.
He came back into the firelight, seeming ready to assist but hesitant to come close again.
"I'm fine," she gasped and bit her lip through the pain. The throbbing eased off, and he returned to the darkness. But she wanted him close again. She wanted to see him, this man who had saved her from freezing to death. "Your face is dark like you're wearing something."
"A ski mask." He continued before she could ask, "It's better this way."
"I don't understand. What's better?" Her brow furrowed.
"Go to sleep."
She laid down and stared at the firelight leaping and flickering on the white ceiling. How could she sleep when he sat watching? Her mind replayed their conversation. "Mr. Port, did you say you have a driver?" No normal man lived in what she'd likely discover to be a mansion, as soon as she could get up and explore. And no one had a driver, except a very wealthy or very important man. Her eyes slid to his corner, and she felt his gaze caressing. "Who are you, Mr. Port?"
"Go to sleep, Emma," he said huskily from the arms of the shadows.