Page 23 of Tender Heart
The hollow of the stairwell in the cylindrical space is freezing. The cold air is sinking. And it’s going to roll into whatever space it finds. With the bedroom door pinned back, Evie must be freezing, too.
I pad into the room. She lies on her side, facing the fireplace. Her body shivers. The duvet and the one thin blanket she has on are not nearly enough. I close the door to stave off the sinking cold and make my way to the small fireplace. As quiet as I can, I stoke it, gently sliding the logs over the coals. When they catch, I adjust the flue and shut the door.
Evie doesn’t wake but still shivers. From the old cupboard, I hunt through the hanging clothes to find the extra blankets on the bottom. Plucking up two of the heaviest, I unfold one and lay it over Evie. After adding the last one, I tug off my coat, toe off my boots, and slide in under the covers.
Evie’s shivers shake the bed. Hell, how she hasn’t woken up is beyond me. Lying on my back, I stare at the light fixture. She’s going to be pissed when she wakes up. I bet the look on her pouty little face will be worth it, though. That, and not freezing to death in my sleep. I raise my arms, tucking my hands under my head.
Turning my head, I watch her sleep for a while. After ten minutes, her shivers subside. She murmurs and rolls onto her back, and I take one last glance at her. Those elegant angles and perfect damn lips. I roll over and the warmth of being tucked up with the fireplace and extra blankets is stifling. I tug my shirt off and settle in.
This is a much better way to die.
I fall asleep with a smirk on my face, imagining how tomorrow morning is going to go.
“The hell!” The screech reaches my ears before I register where I am. “Holy shit!”
The bed rocks, the blankets shifting sideways in a violent sway. Cracking one eye open, I squint against the stream of golden light pouring through the porthole window. A harried, flannelette-clad woman, brown eyes burning, seethes, where she stands by her side of the bed. I resist the urge to chuckle. Sitting up, I sweep both hands down my face.
The blanket, or what’s left of it on my side, falls into my lap. My naked, bare lap.
Fuck. That’s right, I got hot and stripped off.
“Callum! Why are you in mybed?”
I groan. It’s way too fucking early.
I barely slept.
And I can’t decide if it’s because I was next to Evie all night or because I wanted to make sure the room stayed warm. I’ll go with the latter.
“First of all, this is my house. My bed. Second, how about a little gratitude for not waking up dead.”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense. You can’t wake up if you’re dead...”
Evie looks to the fireplace, still burning away nicely, then lowers her gaze to the bundle of blankets on her side. She hugs her body, inching forward, as if she’s cold again.
My eyes drift to her pert nipples, before my proper brain has a chance to catch it. Yep, she’s cold. I pull the blankets back on her side. “Hop back in before you freeze.”
She gapes, nodding at what I assume is my naked body, somewhat covered by the blanket now.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot, I’m getting up. Fire needs more wood downstairs by now, anyhow.”
I make to rise, and she spins around awkwardly, hands flying over her face. I roll my eyes. When I stand and pull on my pants, I see her socks pulled halfway up her calves, the pajama pants tucked into them.
It’s fucking adorable.
A moment later, she turns back around. Her mussed-up hair sits tossed around her shoulders, that bottom lip tugged through her teeth. Brows lowering, she opens her mouth to say something, but the words disintegrate into a breathless silence.
Heat blooms in my chest, sending blood south.
Time for me to leave.
I head for the door as I grunt out, “You’re welcome.”
She tilts her head as if in apology as her eyes soften further. And I stalk down the stairs, pulling on my coat as I go.
With the cold snap well and truly behind us, and a week of awkward nights in the same bed, we venture off the island. Evie sits on the bow of the cruiser, hair whipping about her face, head hanging back, hands planted on the bow behind her as her face tilts toward the sun. Seeing her like this has me thinking thoughts, processing sensations I shouldn’t damn well haveabout a twentysomething. Still, my gaze rarely wanders from her lithe form draped over my boat like she fucking belongs here.
It’s good to see her unwind, come out of her shell. She spent the first month here tucked away, as if she was punishing herself. I hated it. Hated that she felt the need to shrink herself. Nobody should be made to feelthatis their only option to fit with this life.
