The Gypsy Moon by Gilbert Morris

pressed tightly against him and could not move, for his arms were strong. Finally, she turned her head to the side and gasped, “Let me go!”
    He laughed and released his grip. He sat up, his eyessparkling. “That’s a good treatment you have for a fallen skier. Kiss me again. I feel a weakness coming on.”
    She hit him on the chest as he grabbed at her, but she was helpless against his strength. He flipped her around so that she lay in the snow, her arms pinioned to her sides. “As they say in the American movies, you’re beautiful when you’re angry, even in those silly goggles.”
    Gabby giggled. She couldn’t help it. They must have both looked ridiculous in their goggles with his sole ski waving in the air as he lay on his stomach. “You are insane! You could have been dead. I was scared to death!”
    “Were you?” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips again. “That’s good news.” He gently pulled her goggles off and then did the same with his own. He put his cheek next to hers and simply held her.
    This was an unusual moment for Gabrielle Winslow. Here on the side of a mountain, lying in the snow, being held by the tall, strong man she had become so attached to, she felt a sense of longing. She felt as if she had been seeking love all of her life. She had not found it before—not even with Lang, she could finally admit—but now as Erik held her firmly, yet with a tenderness she had learned was part of his character, she felt safe and secure, and she longed for even more.
    This longing frightened her. Erik was two men, it seemed. One was the typical German man of strength and discipline and iron, but he also had a tender side to him, and he showed it to her from time to time. If she had not seen it, she would have refused to date him at all. But it was there, and she tried to understand the balance of these two influences—his tenderness and yet the steel of his Nordic character.
    “You know, Gabby, I think I feel more for you than I should,” he said quietly. He pulled his head back so he could look into her eyes.
    She could see the clean handsomeness of his features, and she let her eyes linger on his eyebrows, his eyelashes, his perfect cheekbones. She wondered how a man with suchmasculine strength could be so beautiful. “Then . . . you had better stop,” she said.
    “How can I stop? Is love a thing you can turn on and off like a light switch?” He pulled her up to sit on the snow next to him and then removed her ski cap, watching her luxurious wealth of hair fall about her shoulders. He had always loved her hair and had told her so many times. He ran his hand through it and said huskily, “I can’t stop loving just because someone tells me to.”
    Gabby could not answer. She felt helpless, caught between two conflicting emotions that were keeping her from thinking clearly. She well understood that Erik’s parents were opposed to their relationship. They were polite enough, but there was a wariness in both of them, and she wondered now if she should mention her concerns to Erik. But he gave her no chance.
    “Come on,” he said. “We were lucky not to break our necks. Why did you follow me?”
    “Because I wanted to.”
    “Did you?” Erik pulled her to her feet and put his arms around her. “That pleases me very much. I hope you will always want to follow me. Because if you don’t, I’ll follow you.”
    “Let me go,” she said with a giggle. “We need to find your other ski.”
    They looked up the mountain and found it buried in the snow not too far away.
    “Let’s be more careful this time,” Gabby said as they both got back into their skis and put on their goggles.
    “You’re right about that,” he said ruefully. “I was a fool to take such chances, and you were no better following me. Are you ready?”
    She adjusted her hat, and the two started down the slopes at a more sedate pace. After they reached the lodge, he said, “My parents are expecting us for