Page 69 of Baby It's Cold Outside

Time stretched until awareness encroached, flickering through her chocolate-colored eyes and bringing a tension best ignored. Exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. He cleared his throat and, without a word, restarted their trek through the drift-covered walk.

The howling gusts increased, dropping the wind chill to almost unbearable. The light from the streetlamp lit up the snow, the swirling white flecks cutting through the dark winter night. Ten minutes later they were halfway there when Wes noticed that her lips looked an alarming shade of blue, her face as pale as when the flight had taken off. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her shiver.

He set their suitcases down. “Take my coat.”

“No,” she said. Huge snowflakes stuck to her hair. “It wouldn’t be fair if I had two and you had none.”

“Evie, you look as if you’re one step away from hypothermia.” Concern made his tone sharper than he’d planned.

But despite her misery, the stubborn tilt to her chin remained fixed. “Dude, I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time. I’m fine.”

And then her boot slipped again. But this time, she landed butt-first in a pile of snow. When she didn’t pop right back up, he knew things were worse than he’d thought. After he’d convinced her not to attempt the drive, the stubborn little rebel was still going to wind up dead in a snow-filled ditch.

“Jesus, Evie,” he said, his voice rough as he stepped forward. He pulled her up and wrapped her arms around him until she was flush against his chest, enveloping her inside his coat, and a whole host of sensations hit him at once.

Desire. Worry. Relief.

Desire.

He closed his eyes, his thoughts churning as madly as the whirling snowflakes. His intent had been to simply absorb the chill in her body, to prevent her from dying of exposure in the mere fifty feet left between them and the hotel. But an unexpected, fierce surge of protectiveness overwhelmed him in ways he’d never imagined possible.

Because, suddenly, he was struck by how tiny she was. Her head barely came to his shoulder, her body slight, the curves of her breasts and hips just full enough to entice. Maybe it was her smart mouth or her kick-ass attitude that had given him the impression she was bigger than she was. Larger than life. A hurricane force that was too powerful to be stopped. But she had a remarkable fragility about her that jump-started a tremendous need to shield her, not only from the elements, but from the harsh realities of the world as well.

And, as odd as it was to be holding Evie, Wes was shocked by just how right she felt in his arms.

Because in the time that it had taken for all those thoughts to file through his brain, Evie had relaxed and snuggled deeper, her soft body now molded against his. Wes’s body reacted predictably, the sensual awareness alive and well and now throbbing loudly in his every cell. He shifted his hips a bit, hiding his reaction. After spending his teenage years wondering how she would feel, the reality was better than the adolescent fantasies. The sweet scent of her hair, the rounded breasts plastered against his chest. The tempting hips pressed against his. The fiery spirit he’d secretly admired held captive, for a moment, firmly in his arms.

The burn that had started on the plane now reached an alarming intensity.

“Wes,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

He kept his eyes closed, ignoring the whipping wind and fighting a need that promised to undo all of his good intentions. “What?”

He hoped the croaking sound of his voice would be written off to the freezing temperature.

The pause that followed was long and, when Evie finally spoke, her voice was hesitant, less self-assured than usual. “When you offered me your coat, you should have told me you came with it,” she said, her voice distant, almost…dreamy. “You smell really good.”

Which meant she either liked being in his embrace, or the hypothermia was affecting her mental faculties. Wes hoped to hell it was the former.

Though, as choices went, he was pretty much screwed either way.

His body stretched tight; the tension in his groin grew thick. If the sober Evie stopped looking at him as the irritating bossy guy from her past, and started looking at him as if they could well and truly spend the night together in bed, he was a dead man.

Chapter Three

On the way up the hotel elevator, Evie elected to remain silent as she stood next to Wes. She was cold, wet, shivering. And more confused than ever before. As soon as they’d reached the luxurious lobby, Wes had draped his exquisite Armani winter coat over her shoulders, the hem reaching her calves. As he’d checked in, she’d stood by, silent, grateful for the warmth.

But the coat wasn’t nearly as enticing without Wes in it.

She’d never imagined she could feel so protected, much less that she’d like the feeling. And earlier, as she’d held him close and enjoyed the hard chest beneath her cheek, his woodsy, clean scent, she’d finally realized it was more than just attraction that she’d felt. Lust was understandable. After a year without sex—not to mention the presence of a drop-dead gorgeous man—lust was to be expected.

But the feeling of…of…coming home?

As much as she lectured herself that the notion was stupid, the sensation was strong, still lingering, fresh in her mind. Made extra ridiculous by the fact that her home had never felt quite that welcoming. Or accepting.

And never in her life had she wanted a man more than she wanted Wes right now.

She dug her nails into her palms, wishing she knew exactly how he felt about her. Was she simply the annoying girl from his past, or did he see beyond all that to the woman she’d become? And if not, was there any hope she could change his mind?

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