When my best friend found out I’d be alone over Christmas, she hooked me up with a week stay in her family’s cabin in Idaho. I was on a publishing deadline for my latest book and was really looking forward to a cozy week by the fire, cuddled up in flannel pajamas with my laptop and hot chocolate.

Alone.

So imagine my surprise when I arrived at the cabin during a blizzard, and found it already occupied. By an all too familiar face and a fine pack of chiseled abs. Even though it had been ten years since I’d last seen Chase, he had no problem picking up exactly where we left off.

I had a big problem with it.

It didn’t matter what he threw at me—the old nickname, the teasing, his charming grin, or even those chiseled abs (did I already mention those?), I refused to let him get to me after…the incident. Nope, not me. I was made of stone.

Unfortunately, I’m beginning to understand that when you strike Chase against stone…you get sparks.

Lots of them.