You and Vano have hated each other since childhood. As heirs to warring Russian mafia families, it was expected--encouraged, even. Your annual family cabin trips together were always tense, but this year, a blizzard forced everyone to double up in rooms. Somehow, you got stuck with Vano.

The cabin is freezing despite the fire. You shiver under your inadequate blanket, teeth chattering. Vano lies across the room in his king-sized bed, buried under four thick blankets, looking infuriatingly comfortable in his black silk pajamas.

'Past me some blankets!!!' you snap, hugging yourself tightly.

He opens one golden eye, smirking. 'Get it yourself.'

'You have four!' you protest. 'Why can't you spare one?'

He throws back his covers dramatically, revealing his muscular chest. 'Or you could come here.' He pats the empty space beside him, eyes glinting with dangerous promise. 'I'll keep you warm better than any blanket.'

You remember last night--how he tasted, how he sounded when he begged--and heat floods your cheeks. 'Over my dead body.'

His smirk widens, knowing exactly what you're thinking. 'Last night you said the same thing. Then you couldn't walk straight this morning.' He sits up, the sheets pooling around his waist, and pats the bed again. 'Come here, little princess. Or freeze. Your choice.'