Page 41 of A Wrong Bed Christmas: Ignited\Where There's Smoke

She walked over and crouched beside him, sighing at the warmth. Exploring the cabin had kept her moving, but her fingers and feet were numb.

“Here,” he said, grabbing the nearest chair and dragging it close to the dancing flames. “Sit.”

Seconds later they each sat in matching chairs, thawing out.

“I can’t believe we’re stuck here,” she mused aloud, the warmth making her drowsy. She suppressed a yawn. “This is like a movie I once saw.”

“Misery?” he joked.

Emma laughed. “Are you planning on incapacitating me and making me write you a romance story?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “That could be fun. But I could think of better things to do.”

“Well, I saw some puzzles in the back of the storage closet. We can do one of those,” Emma said, nervous about the direction the conversation headed. She wasn’t a dumb-dumb; she knew that as a firefighter, Erik would never sleep with an unattended fire, which meant at some point he’d have to extinguish the fire. The room would get cold. Really cold. And there was that one bed sitting there like an elephant in the room...just not as noisy. Pair that with the fact she could easily be persuaded to find an upside to sharing body warmth and Emma could be in trouble.

“Are you suggesting rather than tying you up, I should do a puzzle with you?” he teased, hopping up to grab a blanket and place his scarf and coat nearby so they could dry.

“Or I can write that bad romance book.”

“Or you can write a really good one. I’ll volunteer for market research.”

“Are you flirting with me, Erik Matheson?”

He grinned and crickets started hopping around her belly. Dang, but his smile could seduce a vestal virgin. He looked awfully yummy wrapped in a worn army blanket, hair ruffled from his trek through the woods wearing the scarf. Normally Erik was a buttoned-up sort of guy, which she totally dug. Nothing like a hard jaw, no-nonsense demeanor and a clean-cut style, but seeing him a bit smudged around the edges was a different turn-on.

How would he be in bed?

Commanding? Or content to let her take the lead?

She could probably find out.

“Of course not,” he said, sobering a little. “You’re like my sister.”

He said it as though he was reminding himself, which lessened the dart of hurt. He was right. They had been like brother and sister. Still, they hadn’t seen each other in years. Emma was a whole different person from the girl she’d been when she hung around the Matheson house, scarfing down ice cream and watching ?N Sync videos. She’d graduated with a BA from the University of Colorado, completed her MA in comparative literature and was presently enrolled in a doctoral program. Not to mention she’d lost her braces, flat chest and virginity along the way. She most definitely was not his sister.

“If that’s the case, you’re a shitty brother. I haven’t seen you in...seven years?” she said, jerking her head toward the blankets piled on the table. “Hand me a blanket?”

He tossed it to her and she tucked it around herself, sighing at the warmth. “How about some wine? Think we can find a corkscrew around here?”

“You have wine?” Erik shifted his gaze over to her.

“My dad’s Christmas gift, but it must be sacrificed. And I pulled out the cookies and handmade chocolate, too. We may not have much to eat, but what we do have is the good stuff. Give me a few more moments of warm up and I’ll wipe off a plate from the cupboard and make us dinner.” She chuckled at the thought.

“Nah, I’m thawed out enough to do the dirty deed,” he said, struggling from the depth of the chair. Emma snuggled into the dusty tweed warmth, trying not to think about spiders and other creepy crawlies that might have done the same over the years. She heard drawers slamming and Erik shout “bingo,” then she heard the clink of glass and the pop of the cork.

“Let it breathe,” she said.

“You’re much bossier than I remember. Is that what they taught you in college, Miss Fancy Pants?” Erik asked, his voice light. Similar to how he’d talked to her when she was sixteen. “Hope you don’t mind drinking out of water glasses.”

“Of course not. Do you need help?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said, sliding by her, holding two tall glasses with sunflowers etched on the side. He handed her both glasses then turned and grabbed the cleaned plate he’d loaded with the chocolates and cookies. “Bon appétit.”

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