I had my top and bra off, about to go grab my nightie, when there was a knock at the door. Before I could call out that I wasn’t dressed, he’d pushed the door open. I covered up with what I had at my disposal—my hands.

Jordan had changed into a sweatshirt and jacket with leather logger boots on his feet. He still wore those jeans that stretched across his muscular thighs.

“Uh, excuse me!” I huffed, cupping my breasts in my hands.

His eyes dropped to my chest, lingered for a moment, then met mine again. “Weiss, I had my hands and mouth all over those last night. What’s the problem?”

My skin flushed and prickled with the heated memory and how good it had felt.

I tossed my head. “You didn’t have the murderous gleam in your eye last night that you have right now.”

His jaw clenched. “Get dressed in something warm and meet me by the elevator in five minutes.”

I would have mock saluted him, but he’d already turned his back and pulled the door shut. Not to mention I was still using my hands to cover myself up.

I pulled on a pair of jeans, my Doc Martens, a sweater, scarf and a light jacket, which was all I’d brought other than business attire. I hadn’t thought I’d be getting out much, and my idea of British Columbia in the fall had apparently been vastly different from reality. Because I’d lived in Southern California all my life, I wasn’t prepared for wintery weather in September. But apparently, September in Vancouver was along the lines of winter at home.

Jordan was silent, austere and refused to answer me when I asked him where we were going. Down at the valet parking, he picked up the keys to an SUV that had been dropped off by a local rental company. It was a Land Rover, though not as nice as the one he drove at home.

There were blankets and a box in the back seat. In minutes he was on a highway headed north—the Sea-to-Sky Highway, it was labeled.

“Are you taking us out of town so it will be easier to hide my body?”

He smiled grimly but didn’t answer, instead fiddling with the GPS. He’d set the destination for some place called Porteau Cove Provincial Park, which looked to be on the road to Whistler, about an hour north of the city.

We drove along the inlet out of West Vancouver, along Horseshoe Bay and its massive ferry port and the dark, looming shapes of big islands off the coast. The tension between us was thick, and it didn’t help that Jordan made no effort to start a conversation. I stared out the window and drummed my fingers, wondering why the heck he was taking us out into the pitch-black night.

An hour into our drive, he followed the GPS directions to turn off the road into the benighted park. We crossed over railroad tracks and into a mostly empty but large parking lot that overlooked the sound. There wasn’t a single light along the coastline, and with the moon just a thin sliver, all we had to light our way were the stars.

So many stars. I’d never seen this many at once before. I leaned forward, peering out the windshield, my mouth agape. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head turn, watching me. I was uneasy. There was no one out here but us. A long pier stretched out over the quiet, dark bay. According to the signs, it was for a ferry that apparently visited sometimes but was currently missing. He could easily strangle me and then dump me over the side of that pier…

I turned to him.

His eyes glittered in the dim light. “Come.”

I folded my arms across my chest and huffed at him. “How do I know you aren’t going to ditch me out here like an unwanted dog or something?”

With a gruff laugh, Jordan got out and slammed his door shut. As reluctant as I was to follow the command that sounded much like something he’d say to the aforementioned dog, I followed him. He was walking toward the pier, and I trotted to catch up with him. It was chilly out here. Even through my quilted jacket and fashionable wool infinity scarf, the evening nipped at my cheeks.

“Are you pissed at me?”

“What do you think?” he asked in a flat, even voice.

“Why did you bring me out here if you’re so angry?”

“Because I planned this before you pulled your shitty little stunt.”

I was silent for a moment, struggling to keep up with him, as he was making no effort whatsoever to make his pace manageable for me. He took one stride for every three of mine. Abruptly, he came to a halt and veered to the railing at the side of the pier, where I joined him. We were about halfway down its length, just before hitting the slope of the loading ramp.

His hands were in his jacket pockets, his eyes on the ground in front of him. A cool breeze tugged at my hair, bringing tears to my eyes. He pulled out a knit beanie and gloves, handing them to me. I thanked him and slipped them on.