Connelly's Flame (Megalodon Team Book 3)

So this is what it feels like to be at the end of your life.

The car careened out of control, spilling hot coffee all over the dark-haired man behind the wheel, burning his leg. The burn soon faded from memory as the vehicle crashed through the guardrail along the isolated highway to flip down the snow-covered embankment. The relatively short life of its driver flashed before steel-gray eyes.

Ross Murdock Connelly wished he could see the love of his life one more time. He knew he had been driving too fast along the slick roads, but his desire to see her, to hold her in his arms one more time, had overcome his normal sense. So he had taken this supposed shortcut, an idea that seemed pointless as he grew dizzy from the revolutions the car made.

Tossed from the vehicle, Ross struggled to maintain consciousness as he lay in the snow. Moments later, he felt rather than saw the incinerating blast that engulfed the totaled vehicle. The swirling winds covered the sound of the explosion as the metal ripped apart and flew into the night sky.

“Charmane,” his injured voice muttered as his eyes closed again, submitting to the pain-free world of oblivion where a beautiful face with sparkling doe eyes beckoned him.

*********

“Where the hell is that smoke coming from?” the scratchy voice asked the interior of the vehicle. “I’m the only one who lives up this way. For that matter, who the hell is traveling on this road this time of the year?”

The old Land Rover was moving about five miles an hour. Even at night, the smoke was obvious, bil-lowing across the beams the headlights made as they cut through the snow and wind. As the dented vehicle passed the broken guardrail, the driver knew.

“Damn it,” she swore and stopped as carefully as she could, the vehicle still sliding from side to side on the snow-covered ice. Setting the brake, she turned the heat to high and began to shove her body into the thick coat and other winter accessories that had been eagerly discarded the second her body had been warm enough in the car.

Fighting the wind and snow, whose chill cut right through the thick layers of clothing she wore, Dezarae Phoenix Kerry began to yell into the night. “Hello? Hello! Is anyone down here?”

Struggling to slip only a minimal amount, she gazed through slitted eyes and approached the wreckage. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Gathering the thick coat tighter against her body, she realized if there had been people in the car, they were dead now. Still, she looked around.

By some stroke of luck, Dezarae found her eyes drawn to what looked like a human lying face first in the snow, illuminated by the burning glow of the car. Eyes watering from the stinging force of snow pellets, she struggled to get to him.

“Are you okay?” she screamed, only to have her words whipped away into the night. No response. Kneeling beside the body, she touched the shoulder and asked again. Nothing.

The person lying there was a large man wearing only a long-sleeved shirt and pants, no jacket or any-thing. “How the hell am I going to get you up the hill?” she muttered as she cleared away the snow from his face so he could breathe. Then she checked for a pulse; he had one.

A groan barely reached her ears, but she took it as a good sign. “Hey! Hey, Mister. You okay?” Dezarae noticed his body shivering and, without a second thought, took off her heavy wool coat and put it over his body.

“Mister. Come on, wake up!” she yelled down by his ear. Even through the layers of clothes she wore, she immediately felt winter’s bite down to her bones. “Can you move?” Dezarae knew the dangers of disturbing an accident victim, but he would die out here if he didn’t move. Her teeth began to chatter.

“I’m here,” a gravelly voice said.

Thank the good Lord. “Can you move? Do you think you can help me get you up? Or does it feel like you have a neck injury?”

“I can move,” he rasped.

“Okay, slowly now. I will help you.”

Inch by tortuous inch, the man moved. Dezarae felt her eyes grow wide as she looked at his body. Dear Lord, he is fine and big. As he managed to get to his hands and knees, she helped him slip the coat on. It barely seemed to fit him while it engulfed her.

Dropping into the snow, Dezarae slipped an arm under his shoulder to help support him. He smells like leather and spices. Shaking her head, she waited for him to drop more of his weight on her. Come on, man, I’m freezing here. “I can help you. Let’s go.”

Almost reluctantly it seemed, he let her have some more of his weight. As he got unsteadily to his feet, they began the climb up the hill. The farther up they got, the more she supported his weight.

“Good thing I am not a weakling here, man,” she mumbled under her breath. “You weigh a lot more than it looks like you would.”

Dezarae had never been so happy to see her car. Opening the door, she helped him into the back and just kind of pushed him in. He toppled over to the side and, after making sure his feet were in, she shut the door to move to the other side and drag him across the seat so he was almost stretched out. Then it was back to the tailgate to grab another blanket to cover him.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, she allowed the warmth to seep into her body. Taking a drink of her now-lukewarm coffee she pulled off her gloves, wiped her eyes, and began to drive home. She glanced back frequently at the man in her backseat. He had apparently drifted back into unconsciousness.

Pulling into her garage, she turned off her vehicle and got out. “Good work today, Old Man,” she said as she patted the green door affectionately. Dezarae moved to the back and opened the door.

The man lying there had a cut on his head, his dark hair cut short. A face that was beginning to show the signs of a shadow seemed sad. Thick black lashes rested against his cheeks.

Cocking her head to the side, Dezarae smiled as she looked at him. He was very handsome…and in danger of getting pneumonia if she didn’t get to work. “I don’t know who you are, Mister, but you have to wake up again.”

“I’m awake,” that deep voice rasped although the eyes never opened.

“Sit up and we will get you inside where it is warm. Come on,” she insisted.

Like before, he moved slowly. But this time, there was no wind, snow, or hill to fight. So it didn’t take long before she was helping him into her bed dressed in only his boxers. Great, I find a man and he has a damn rebel flag tat on his chest as a backdrop for an anchor. Damn, he is fine, even with that tat; I hope he doesn’t get frostbite.

She gazed over his limbs and didn’t see any signs of it, but time would tell. It was important now to get him warm. Dezarae covered him in her blankets and thick comforter before she left to change into dry clothes herself and make him something warm to drink.