One Bed at Silverpine

Ingrid Falk closes slopes for a living. She's the woman who says no all winter, she's right about the snow every time, and she's made her peace with being lonely about it. The one thing she's never let herself say yes to is Mack Torrance: patrol, big, unhurried, and the only man on the mountain who argues with her closures because he likes watching her win.

Then the storm comes in two hours early and puts the two of them in a twelve-by-nine patrol hut with a woodstove, a can of peaches older than either of them, and one bunk.

Mack's been patient for years. He's done being patient. He's going to take her apart slow, on his schedule, and she's going to find out what it's like to not be the one who knows when. She's going to hate it. Then she's going to beg.
But storms end, and the dangerous part of an avalanche is the morning after, and the man who never looks down is about to make the only call of his life without a number to back it.

One Bed at Silverpine is an explicit, open-door forced-proximity romance: one bunk, a radio she has to answer while he doesn't stop, a hero who runs the pace and says exactly what he's doing to her while he does it, and a heroine who argues with him with his hand between her thighs.

A standalone HEA. Book One of Snowed