Thank God.
He rolled to his back beneath her, leaving her sprawled across him, breathing hard. Their frosty breath mingled between them. He reached up—slowly—to push up his snow goggles and pull down the knit tube covering his mouth and nose. Yowza. Hunk alert. He was one of those tanned, smooth-skinned, square-jawed, achingly handsome Nordic types. In the moonlight, his eyes looked silver.
He scowled up at her. “Uncle.”
She was too knocked over by how gorgeous he was to do much but nod.
“But I think you’d lose the fight anyway,” he said with a faint Norwegian accent overlaying excellent English.
“Why’s that?” she retorted. “You’re looking pretty dead to me right now.”
“Because my men have defeated all your comrades and they would now turn upon you and defeat you.”
Karen looked up. He was right.