Page 7 of Polestar
“Shit.”
Easing her head back onto the small pillow, he went to fetch the space heater, to plug it in next to the cot.He cranked the knob, so that the filaments ticked as they grew to bright hot orange.It wasn’t heating the room fast enough.
“It’s not even winter.How can anyone catch a chill so damned fast?”he grumbled, rubbing her arms and legs to warm them up while the heater worked to bring the room temperature up.
The sensation of her silky skin beneath his palms didn’t go unnoticed, just ignored.
Trembles wracked her body.
Quickly, Magnus unbuttoned her blouse, peeling it from her skin to drape it over a couple of hooks screwed to the wall next to the door.Then he pulled his own t-shirt up over his head.
Dragging a chair from the office, he sat, then carefully pulled Ortega onto his lap.He wrapped his arms around her lean form, ensuring her back was pressed to his chest.After a few moments, the trembling eased.
“Antony.”She sighed, easing her head back onto his shoulder.
As soon as he was sure the agent could maintain body heat on her own, Magnus slid her back onto the cot, pulling the blanket around her shoulders and torso, then moved to rub the warmth into her feet and ankles.
The electric heater continued to tick furiously, working hard to warm the concrete and steel room.
After about ten minutes, Magnus went back to the plane, bare chested, to fetch one of the agent’s suitcases.When he returned to the hangar, he left Ortega’s suitcase at the foot of the cot, grabbed his wet shirt, and draped it over the back of the chair, pulling it back into the office.
Retrieving his own mug of tea, he sat down, impervious to the cool air.As a polar bear shifter, the cold didn’t bother him.
He positioned his chair so that he could see Agent Ortega through the open door.She was a burrito on the thin cot.Her dark hair framed her small, round face, making her look younger than she probably was.And vulnerable, which she probably wasn’t.
The only sounds were the steady ticking of the heater over the howling wind driving the rain against the steel roof of the airstrip hangar.
In the morning, he’d refuel the plane and get his new colleague to Ireland.
It would have been easier putting her on a commercial flight, but Kane had insisted that Ortega arrive as soon as possible, hence the private charter.
Magnus rubbed a hand over his face.Whatever they needed her for, it was important.Given their verbal exchange before she passed out, the sooner he delivered her, the better for both of them.
He didn’t appreciate anyone slamming his flying skills, not even a feisty little agent from the Global Paranormal Security Agency.
THREE
Anawatchedthelandscapethrough the same small window of her plane seat.
The Irish coast was beautiful.And green.
Not the north, as she’d worked herself up for.
She stifled a yawn and glanced toward the closed cockpit door concealing her giant pilot.
Ana’s thoughts returned to the moment she’d awakened to discover that she was half naked and burrowed into an uncomfortable cot next to a blazing space heater.Then, unexpectedly, had taken in a full view of her pilot dozing bare-chested on an office chair in the next room.His long, long, jean-clad legs braced the chair against the wall behind him where his head rested.His large hands lay clasped over his belt buckle.
Her eyes trailed over the tattoos adorning the muscle.On the small table next to him were the remnants of the mug he’d given her the night before.She frowned, unable to recall anything after… what?What had happened?
God, she couldn’t remember anything beyond feeling so damned cold.
And here she sat, flying to Ireland.
Bjornson, he’d said his name was.Agent?Yes, Agent Magnus Bjornson.
Tall, blond, and silent.He was a shifter of some kind.She’d gleaned that much from the unintentional contact.
He’d barely said anything to her since he caught her staring at him from her little bundle on the cot where she’d slept.As he seemed to have slept all night on an office chair.
