Page 23 of Take Me Home

“What?”

“If you’re cold, you can come closer. Unless your spite for me won’t allow it.”

“Just trying to get comfortable.”

He lowered his arm back down. When he’d done the same on their walk home, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders to shield her from the wind, a crazy thought had latched on to her lizard brain: Why were they wearing so many damn layers of clothing that she couldn’t fully absorb the contact? Shehadfelt the heft of his arm, though, its comforting press like a weighted blanket. Only better because he was aman. When she’d tucked in closer, playing it off like she was just cold, he’dtightened his hold, like she might float away. Shecouldhave floated away on the giddy uprush.

“I mean…are you sure?” she asked.

To her surprise, he got up, tugged the comforter from under her legs, and resettled beside her, pulling the covers over them and slipping his arm behind her back. His hand found her hip over her flimsy fleece jacket, and he tugged her closer into his side. Her belly swooped at the maneuver, not exactlymanhandlingher, but not exactlynot.

“Good?” he asked, face directed at the screen like dragging her against his side was a totally normal thing for an acquaintance to do. In a bed. In the dark.

“Uh-huh.”

The episode was a blur to Hazel. At one point, the sound of her own breathing, the way it made her chest rise and fall against him in the little space she’d curled into, felt excessive and unnatural. Hell, he was going to think she had a breathing problem. Or that she was huffing him. She breathed shallowly, overcorrecting until her lungs demanded a full yawn. It did not help that she could smell the faint, crisp note of lemongrass from his shower earlier. It also did not help that the tip of her nose was freezing, and his neck would be the perfect warm place to press it.

Then, Ash laughed, giving her a new sensation to puzzle over—the gentle rumble vibrating from his chest into her body. It was doing things to her. Things that made her want to squirm closer. Butthatmade her want to scoot away. So what if Ash Campbell smelled good and was like a portable heater? He was only here because he needed a ride. And notthatkind of ride. If she made any move, she’d basically be taking advantage of him. She lifted her head from his shoulder, wondering if she’d already crossed the line.

But then, his hand was still anchored to her hip, like he might pull her into his lap at a moment’s notice, and she realized, with a confusing little thrill, she…might not hate that.

He murmured, “Need something?”

Yes.

She shook her head. Whatever she might be feeling had nothing to do with Ash. She was just touch-starved. That was all.

He looked down at her, distracted at first, then questioning. In the glow from the laptop, his lips parted, eyes flitting down to her mouth then back up. She could kiss him. They could blame the storm, the power outage. Whatever happened in—what was this tiny town called again?—could stay here.

Except Ash wasn’t the kind of guy who hooked up and moved on. The momentary satisfaction of finding out what his mouth felt like on hers, his hands on her skin, would not be free of consequences. They still had the rest of the drive tomorrow and another long drive back after Christmas.

Hazel scooted over, putting a good six inches between them. He pulled his arm from behind her without a word.

—

She closed the laptop on the final episode’s credits, casting them into almost total darkness. They’d drawn back the curtains, but with all the streetlights out and clouds blocking the moon, it didn’t do much to brighten the room.

Ash let her use the bathroom first. Hazel brushed her teeth, pulled flannel pajamas over her leggings, and swapped her dress for a hoodie. At least the cold made deciding what to wear to bed with Ash—God, there was a phrase she’d never get over—a lot simpler. When she tried to wash her face with the icy water from the tap, she couldn’t hold in an anguished shriek.

“Okay in there?” he called.

She toweled off quickly, opened the door, and there was the shadowy mass of him, one hand on the doorjamb. He was leaning above her, head cocked to the side, his other hand drawing up to scratch his bicep. She didn’t know why that particular movement snagged her attention—she couldn’t even make out much more than his silhouette—but it did, and now she wanted to put her own hands on his arms, feel the firm muscles there.No. Nope.She took the first distancing tactic that came to mind and pressed her freezing fingers to the side of his neck.

Ash jumped, hissing at the contact. But he caught both her wrists as she tried to dart by him. “You—” he said on a jagged exhale. “That was cold.”

She held her breath. What was he going to do to her? Throw her over his shoulder? Toss her into the icy shower?

He moved his large hands so that they encased hers entirely, just…holding them. She felt more than saw his eyes on her face, everything dark and shadowy. He seemed to sway closer, dip his chin just so, and sirens blared in her head. Her breath caught, and her blood sang with anticipation.He was going to kiss her.

After an eternity, his face dipped lower. A warm puff of air ghosted long and slow across her knuckles. With the next breath, his lips brushed over her skin—unintended contact, she was sure, butGod. Something turned deep in her belly, a windup toy, ratcheting tighter and tighter. “Warmer?” he murmured.

She nodded, and he let her go. Then he passed by her into the bathroom and shut the door.

“Nope,” she whispered into the darkness, panic-pacing in the tight space. “Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.” She could not—could not—sleep next to Ash afterthat.Not with the soft, barely wet brush of his lips a permanent brand on her skin.

That’s just a natural physiological response to stimuli, shereasoned. Helpfully, her brain flipped through a deep catalog of relevant research. Skin-to-skin benefits for NICU babies. Blind-barrier studies where subjects communicated emotions solely by touch. Humans couldn’t directly sense wetness by touch, only discern changes in temperature and texture that the brain interpreted as wetness. The fingers were the most sensitive area of the body. People could discern two close but distinct points of contact there that, on less sensitive parts of the body, felt like one point. She had feltbothof Ash’s lips, the humidity of his warm breath…

When Ash emerged from the bathroom, she was already cramming the spare pillows under the comforter. “What’s this?” he asked, voice laced with a smile.

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