I wrapped her bottom half in the comforter, bracing her limp body with my hand to her back. I unzipped her hoodie and then pulled her slightly sweaty thermal shirt off over her head. Underneath, she was in a light pink bra, and for one second I thought, You can’t take that off, man. You gotta leave it. She’s a total stranger. You can’t be taking off her goddamned lingerie, you douchebag. But as I had her up against my chest, I could feel that even that was damp with sweat, the slightly padded cups wet and cold. So I fucking bit the bullet. I held her close, unhooked her bra at the clasp on her back, and cradled her in my arms, pulling it away from her without tipping her body backward. I didn’t look at her breasts, even though I could have, because that was way the fuck over the line.
But goddamn, was she beautiful. The light from the fire sent long shadows over her face, over her full lips. I pulled her right up against me and rubbed her back to warm her up. Using my free hand, I grabbed one of my hoodies and put it on her. I didn’t bother with putting her arms through the sleeves. There was no time for that. As I zipped it up, I did see her breasts, but I willed myself to ignore how full they were and how perfect and the very faint tan line that was still there, probably left over from summer. I took the second hoodie and wrapped that around her, too, zipping it up all the way to the delicate hollow of her neck. Her head slumped back limply as I laid her back down gently on the throw pillows. She looked like a little girl, almost, wearing my too-big clothes. Tiny and frail and well and truly in the danger zone. Still, she shivered, an unconscious and involuntary chatter that made her teeth clack against each other.
I pulled the comforter up to her neck and tucked it in around her sides, wrapping her hourglass figure in the blanket, jamming my hand under her body to envelop her in a tight cocoon. But then, standing there over her, I knew there was one more thing I could do. There was one more way to warm her up: with my own body heat. If she woke up while I was holding her, she might freak the fuck out. But at least she’d be warm. Angry and weirded out she might be, but at least she’d be alive.
Untucking the blanket, I made a gap for myself next to her. Keeping her facing the roaring fire, I climbed over her, with one knee to the sofa cushions so that I was straddling her. Then I slipped in behind her, almost pushing her to the edge of the couch—it was hardly big enough for the two of us together. But it was good enough, and as I enveloped her with my body, I nestled my face against her sweet-smelling hair. I used all my size and weight to do what she couldn’t, and I willed all my body temperature into hers. I pulled the comforter around us both; I pulled her hips into mine, aware of her curves—so feminine, so perfect—underneath the loose flannel pants. I focused on her breathing, which was regular but shallow, and I felt wave after wave of shivers tear through her. I slipped my arm out from the comforter to turn off the lamp above us, plunging us into just firelight. Moving a lock of her hair aside, I held her as close as I’d held anybody in years. Crisscrossing my arms in front of her chest, I watched the flames and held her tight to reassure her, even in her unconsciousness, that she was safe and that I would look after her. And then I prayed like hell that she was going to be okay.
4
Lisa
Blinking hard, I opened my eyes and tried to get my bearings. I felt disoriented and confused at first. I was lying on my side, on a couch, and in front of me, there was a huge roaring fire in a big stone fireplace. A real fire, too, with real logs that popped and hissed. I looked around. The room was vast, two stories high at least, with built-in bookcases lining the walls and thick Oriental carpets on the floor. Outside the windows on either side of the fireplace, the storm still raged, and snowdrifts were a quarter of the way up the big panes. But I was warm and calm and peaceful. And in addition to the comforting woodsy smell of the fire, there was something that smelled like…a man. Soap, or cologne. Or both.
That was when I realized I wasn’t alone. There was someone on the couch with me. I turned my head to get a look and caught sight of a strong, manly sideburn. Full, sexy lips. Startled, I turned back to face the fire. I realized it had to be the man who answered the door—I had vague, blurry memories of a bare chest and a pair of flannel pajama pants—but I was so delirious by the time I got here, I hardly remembered that at all. It was just a fuzzy, dreamlike streak. I remembered only the utter, overpowering relief that someone, anyone, answered when I knocked. I must have fainted, and now here I was.
He was holding me very close, his body right against mine, spooning me. He was huge and warm and, judging from his regular breathing, the comforting and strong breaths, absolutely sound asleep. In a heap on the floor, I saw my parka and my clothes. My boots. And, oh God, my bra.
For just one instant, I felt a rush of panic. But then I made myself think it through. After I fainted—first time ever!—he must have… I went through the paces. Unpeeled my leggings from my legs, unzipped my sweatshirt, taken off my tank top. Lord. But I knew why he’d done it—to get me out of my cold, wet clothes. I looked down at my chest to see what I was wearing. One, no, two hoodies. But my arms were against my bare body. I wiggled my toes and felt that I was wearing socks, but they were much too big for me. And I also felt an unfamiliar waistband high on my stomach. I worked one of my legs free from the comforter and saw the bottom hem of a pair of men’s pajama pants.
Oh.
Ever so slowly, I tried to sit up, but he had me in a bear hug, and I couldn’t shift him. His arms were massive, and the hand pressed to my chest was attached to a huge, muscular forearm.
Gosh.
His left arm was underneath my head, and I was nestled down against it, the crook of my neck on his bicep. His left hand was hanging off the couch, relaxed and open. With no wedding ring. I let myself be vaguely conscious of the feel of his hips against mine, and what might be his… I shimmied my tush just half an inch. Yes. Midnight wood.
Lordy.
All of which together meant I wasn’t just warm now. I was actually really hot. He was like a furnace behind me, and then there was the fire warming me from the front. I tried to wriggle free, but as I did, I shifted his arm just enough to wake him up. He inhaled hard and fast, like he was startled. “Holy shit,” he said. “You’re awake.”
I found my eyes sort of flitting upward, to the huge darkly stained wooden beams that ran in parallel lines across the ceiling, like maybe I could get some guidance on this from above. What kind of conversation was I going to start with this man, this stranger who was spooning me in the middle of the night? Hello, thank you for saving me. Thank you for taking off my clothes. By the way, my name is Lisa. And you’re super-duper sexy. “Yes, hi.”
As he shifted, my head rolled off his arm, and he let me go free, moving his hand away from where he’d been gripping me so tightly, even as he slept. I slipped my legs out from under the comforter and sat up. And then I turned to face him.
He was perfect.