I pulled the comforter up to her neck and tucked it in around her sides, wrapping her hourglass figure in the blanket, jamming my hand under her body to envelop her in a tight cocoon. But then, standing there over her, I knew there was one more thing I could do. There was one more way to warm her up: with my own body heat. If she woke up while I was holding her, she might freak the fuck out. But at least she’d be warm. Angry and weirded out she might be, but at least she’d be alive.
Untucking the blanket, I made a gap for myself next to her. Keeping her facing the roaring fire, I climbed over her, with one knee to the sofa cushions so that I was straddling her. Then I slipped in behind her, almost pushing her to the edge of the couch—it was hardly big enough for the two of us together. But it was good enough, and as I enveloped her with my body, I nestled my face against her sweet-smelling hair. I used all my size and weight to do what she couldn’t, and I willed all my body temperature into hers. I pulled the comforter around us both; I pulled her hips into mine, aware of her curves—so feminine, so perfect—underneath the loose flannel pants. I focused on her breathing, which was regular but shallow, and I felt wave after wave of shivers tear through her. I slipped my arm out from the comforter to turn off the lamp above us, plunging us into just firelight. Moving a lock of her hair aside, I held her as close as I’d held anybody in years. Crisscrossing my arms in front of her chest, I watched the flames and held her tight to reassure her, even in her unconsciousness, that she was safe and that I would look after her. And then I prayed like hell that she was going to be okay.
4
Lisa
Blinking hard, I opened my eyes and tried to get my bearings. I felt disoriented and confused at first. I was lying on my side, on a couch, and in front of me, there was a huge roaring fire in a big stone fireplace. A real fire, too, with real logs that popped and hissed. I looked around. The room was vast, two stories high at least, with built-in bookcases lining the walls and thick Oriental carpets on the floor. Outside the windows on either side of the fireplace, the storm still raged, and snowdrifts were a quarter of the way up the big panes. But I was warm and calm and peaceful. And in addition to the comforting woodsy smell of the fire, there was something that smelled like…a man. Soap, or cologne. Or both.
That was when I realized I wasn’t alone. There was someone on the couch with me. I turned my head to get a look and caught sight of a strong, manly sideburn. Full, sexy lips. Startled, I turned back to face the fire. I realized it had to be the man who answered the door—I had vague, blurry memories of a bare chest and a pair of flannel pajama pants—but I was so delirious by the time I got here, I hardly remembered that at all. It was just a fuzzy, dreamlike streak. I remembered only the utter, overpowering relief that someone, anyone, answered when I knocked. I must have fainted, and now here I was.
He was holding me very close, his body right against mine, spooning me. He was huge and warm and, judging from his regular breathing, the comforting and strong breaths, absolutely sound asleep. In a heap on the floor, I saw my parka and my clothes. My boots. And, oh God, my bra.
For just one instant, I felt a rush of panic. But then I made myself think it through. After I fainted—first time ever!—he must have… I went through the paces. Unpeeled my leggings from my legs, unzipped my sweatshirt, taken off my tank top. Lord. But I knew why he’d done it—to get me out of my cold, wet clothes. I looked down at my chest to see what I was wearing. One, no, two hoodies. But my arms were against my bare body. I wiggled my toes and felt that I was wearing socks, but they were much too big for me. And I also felt an unfamiliar waistband high on my stomach. I worked one of my legs free from the comforter and saw the bottom hem of a pair of men’s pajama pants.
Oh.
Ever so slowly, I tried to sit up, but he had me in a bear hug, and I couldn’t shift him. His arms were massive, and the hand pressed to my chest was attached to a huge, muscular forearm.
Gosh.
His left arm was underneath my head, and I was nestled down against it, the crook of my neck on his bicep. His left hand was hanging off the couch, relaxed and open. With no wedding ring. I let myself be vaguely conscious of the feel of his hips against mine, and what might be his… I shimmied my tush just half an inch. Yes. Midnight wood.
Lordy.
All of which together meant I wasn’t just warm now. I was actually really hot. He was like a furnace behind me, and then there was the fire warming me from the front. I tried to wriggle free, but as I did, I shifted his arm just enough to wake him up. He inhaled hard and fast, like he was startled. “Holy shit,” he said. “You’re awake.”
I found my eyes sort of flitting upward, to the huge darkly stained wooden beams that ran in parallel lines across the ceiling, like maybe I could get some guidance on this from above. What kind of conversation was I going to start with this man, this stranger who was spooning me in the middle of the night? Hello, thank you for saving me. Thank you for taking off my clothes. By the way, my name is Lisa. And you’re super-duper sexy. “Yes, hi.”
As he shifted, my head rolled off his arm, and he let me go free, moving his hand away from where he’d been gripping me so tightly, even as he slept. I slipped my legs out from under the comforter and sat up. And then I turned to face him.
He was perfect.
He got up on one elbow, with the light of the fire sending golden rays onto his Adam’s apple, and his stubble, and his absolutely beautiful face. Thick, dark brown hair, cut close on the sides and longer on top. He was friendly in the eyes, with long eyelashes and heavy eyebrows. And he was studying me so carefully, so caringly, that a quick blush flooded my cheeks. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Oh yes, I’m…just…” I began trying to stick my arms through the sleeves of the hoodies I was wrapped in, because I honestly just didn’t know what else to do. I don’t think anybody in my life had ever looked at me with so much worry or so much tenderness—and certainly never a perfect stranger. It knocked all my small talk right out of my head, and I was left with a rather unfortunate unfiltered honesty: “… I’m just really hot.”
Good work, Lisa. Top marks.
But he wasn’t bothered and looked absolutely relieved. “Well, thank God for that,” he said, sitting beside me, his huge thigh pressing against the side of my comparatively much smaller one. I noticed our pants were sort of matchy-matchy, like two versions of the same plaid. I was definitely wearing his clothes. Not his girlfriend’s or his sister’s or—God forbid—his out-of-town wife’s. Nope. These were his pants I was swimming in. They were so huge that my feet disappeared under the bottoms. I lifted up my big toe and snagged the hem, pulling it tight because the other side was pinned under my heel. He reached across me and unzipped the top hoodie, slipping it from my shoulders.
He closed his eyes. “I won’t look,” he said, smiling a little and unzipping the next hoodie just enough for me to let it slip down off my shoulders and find the sleeves with my hands.
“I think it’s a bit late for that,” I said, with a laugh sneaking up on me.
“Desperate times,” he said, clearly trying to keep down a laugh himself. He was a gentleman about it, though. He didn’t look, not until I’d gotten myself zipped back up, now with both my arms fully operational.
He reached across me and switched on a lamp. “I’m Dave,” he said, extending a huge hand to shake mine.
There was something so sweet about it. My clothes in a heap on the floor, me in his PJs, and him introducing himself like we were meeting for the first time on a blind date, and not at all like he’d just saved my life by undressing me. I extended my hand, too. His palm was warm, his fingers girthy, his whole presence very…swoony. “I’m Lisa.”
“It’s really good to meet you. And I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
Oh my God. My kind of man. Saved my life and his first thought was of…snacks? “Starving.” I smiled at him, almost overwhelmed with gratitude. “And thank you for helping me. Really. I’m sorry that I wo
ke you up.”
He clicked his tongue and put a firm hand on my thigh. And then winked! Actually winked! “I’m glad you woke me up, and I’m so fucking relieved you’re all right.”
5
Dave
I spread a thick layer of peanut butter on two slices of bread and said, “I’d make you a hot toddy if I had any idea what the hell that was.”
“Oh, I know what it is,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. The light from the pantry was on and one of the under-cabinet lights as well. She really was just fucking beautiful, even swallowed up by my pants and with my hoodie hanging on her like a tent. “Got some bourbon, honey, and a lemon?” she asked.
“Copy that.” I set down the peanut-buttery knife and got all the fixings for her.
“Can I?” She looked up at the rectangular pot rack over the huge island in the middle of the kitchen. She reached up and put one finger on a small saucepan.
“All yours.”
Coming up on her tiptoes and reaching up for the pan, she gave me a perfect view of her belly button and the soft, bare skin of her stomach. Man, oh fucking man. “And I need two mugs.”
I got those for her, too, but I grabbed the good ones—the ones that matched, the ones Grandma told probably-bullshit stories about. As much as I liked the idea of her lips on a Royal Mattress mug, that mouth of hers was way more suited to fine china than the sort of promo shit people got for free with an extended warranty.
I could tell that having something to do made her feel less awkward, which I totally understood. The situation was pretty much once in a lifetime—I was certain it wasn’t every Sunday night that a stranger stripped her naked and got under the covers with her.
Fuck me.
But she’d rolled with it like a champ, totally graceful under fire. She took a knife from the block and a cutting board from a hook. She sliced the lemon in half and squeezed it into the mugs, followed by bourbon and a drizzle of honey. Then she filled the saucepan halfway with water and turned on the stove. She was mesmerizing—the way she moved, the curve of her throat, the thought that underneath my hoodie were her bare breasts. To stop myself from standing there with my mouth hanging open, I went back to the sandwiches, covering the empty halves with grape jelly.
Then I heard her hiss with pain, and I glanced at her. She was holding her hand to her forehead. “Lemon juice on my fingers. Shit.”
I grabbed a washcloth, dampened it under the faucet, and then turned on a second light to get a better look. “You’re lucky this wasn’t worse,” I told her as I tried to clean away the lemon juice on the small but angry red line, crusted with blood. “Normally, head wounds bleed a lot.”
“I think I was already freezing to death when it happened, so there’s that,” she said, wincing as I dabbed.
“I’ve never had anybody faint into my arms before,” I told her, just to break the ice a bit.
“Gosh, I don’t think I’ve ever fainted. Maybe once when I was a kid, but not since.”
Small smudges of her blood soaked into the washcloth, but I was careful not to push too hard. “That okay? Still stinging?”
She shook her head a little. “That’s much better. Thanks,” she said, almost shy now. Like she didn’t like all this fussing over her.
But I liked it. A whole fucking lot. “So, what happened?” I asked as I arranged the sandwiches on two plates.
“Stupid Lola!” she said, pointing at the storm. She was so animated, it kind of took my breath away. I’d gotten so used to women who were poised and controlled and whose every movement seemed like it was practiced in the mirror. But not her. She was just…her. Lisa, with her makeup smudged and her hair a mess. Cute as a button. “Totally hoodwinked me. I had no idea it would be this bad.” Lisa glanced out of the kitchen window. “Bombogeneroisis or whatever.”
I looked out the window, too. One of the pine trees in the distance was damn near bent double. “You drive off the road?”
She nodded as she took a huge bite of her sandwich. And when I say huge, I mean, huge. Stuffed her face with it. Not a delicate nibble, hell no. A huge, glad-to-be-alive bite. So goddamned awesome. Then she pointed toward the front of the house and said something that sounded like, “Hecked my beep.”
I took an equally big bite of my sandwich and watched her carefully as she chewed. I studied her every fucking move, every shift of her dimples, every shy blink. She was laughing and trying hard to swallow so she could talk, but she was jumping the gun. She’d just have to wait it out, and in that long, silent moment, I found myself standing slightly closer to her than was totally polite. But I couldn’t help it. She was like a magnet, and I liked watching her suffer—watching her be a good girl and not talk with her mouth full. Thanks to the peanut butter and white bread, clearly stuck to the roof of her mouth, I got a chance to really study her. Her freckles, the curls around her face from where she’d gotten hot under the covers with me before. Christ.
“Wrecked my Jeep!” she clarified, when she’d gotten free of the vise grip of the Jif.
“Seemed like you walked quite a ways. You were caked with snow.” I tucked a quarter of my sandwich into my mouth.
She nodded hard and turned off the simmering water. She poured half into each mug. “I went to your neighbor’s first…”
“Big, white place? Spanish tile roof? Looks like a gigantic Taco Bell?” I asked, wiping my mouth with my palm.
Lisa giggled softly. “That’s the spot!”
“He’s in the Bahamas.”
“Clearly,” she said, stirring the toddies. “It was confusing because I could see the light from your porch, but then I lost it behind the hill, so I just assumed it was coming from his place. Which it wasn’t. So then I had to go back down his driveway and up the hill, and that’s how I found you.”
The thing was, in spite of the fact that she called it a driveway, I knew how far that meant. I jogged my own “driveway” all the time. It was at least two miles, all by itself. So then double that and add whatever she had to walk on the road. “Fuck. That’s a hell of a hike.”
Lisa nodded. She handed me a steaming mug, and the sharp bourbon and lemon scent filled the air. A sudden yawn snuck up on her, and she shielded her mouth with her hand. When she opened her eyes, they sparkled by the light of the hood over the range. “I really am sorry about this. I don’t want to impose. I’m sure the storm will be over soon. I’ll be gone before you know it.”
Two thoughts ran through my head at the same damned time: I’m not so sure about that, and I fucking hope not. The snow was piling up, and the idea of her getting stuck at my house? Sounded pretty damned great to me. I looked her up and down, and I made sure to make a thing of it. I allowed her to feel my eyes on her, just long enough to let her know how she was making me feel already. “You’re welcome for as long as you want to stay,” I told her, and clink went our mugs.
6
Dave
After we finished our drinks, I led Lisa to my favorite of the guest rooms, which—bonus—was on my side of the house, on the opposite end of the mansion from Grandma. One thing I wanted to avoid, at all costs, was Lisa getting turned around in the dark of the night, flipping on the bathroom light, and finding herself faced with Grandma’s teeth in a glass. She’d been through enough already.
“This is really nice…” Lisa said, trailing off as she lightly touched the end of the big mahogany bed frame with her fingertips. She turned to me and blinked. “…So fancy. I’ve never been inside a house this beautiful.”
You’re making it a fuckload more beautiful. “The bed is super comfortable,” I told her, turning on the light switch on one of the side tables. “And it adjusts.” I didn’t give her the whole goddamned showroom shtick, but I raised and lowered the knee rest and a few things like that. I opened the cabinet under the TV and grabbed a few bottles of water for her and put them on her bedside table.
“Thank you,” she said again, with her eyes twinkling with heavy yawn tears. One of them tumbled ou
t and spilled down her windburned cheek. And every fiber in my being said, Wipe it off for her. Touch her. Do it.
But I didn’t. I kept my shit together and played the gentleman. “There’s a spare toothbrush and everything you might need in the bathroom. But if you’re missing anything, just let me know. I’m sure we have it here somewhere. I’ll just be down the hallway. Fourth door on the right. I’ll leave my door open. You’re sure your head is okay?”
It was like the question startled her, like she’d forgotten, and her fingers moved gingerly up to the cut at her hairline. She winced as she touched the wound, and my goddamned heart dropped. “I think so. It’s sore, but I’m all right.”
I wasn’t so sure, though. I took a few steps closer and stood in front of her, holding her by the shoulders. What I meant to do, of course, was check to make sure her pupils weren’t different sizes, to make sure there was no obvious sign of a concussion. I wasn’t exactly an EMT, but I’d played soccer long enough to know a thing or two about what a mild head injury looked like, or worse. But instead of actually checking her pupils, I got totally lost in her eyes. They were this deep green, with brownish flecks at the edges, and one tiny darker fleck inside the outer rim of the left one, giving her the most mesmerizing asymmetry.
She pressed her lips together. “Do I get the all clear? Dr. Dave?”
“I’ve got no idea what I’m looking for, to tell you the truth.” But you are so fucking pretty.
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