Tagging along with a stranger on his personal exploration journey could only work if they didn’t have sex. Sex would complicate her already-complicated free hotel rooms and subsidized food. There was a difference between running away in the company of a stranger and running away with a stranger. The latter was much messier.
Struggling not to have sex with the way she was starting to want him would be almost as problematic, though.
“You go first,” she said.
“All right.” He crawled and pushed and groaned as he fit his large body through the small space between the front seats.
His contortions meant she had an up close and personal view of a fine ass in old, worn jeans. She blinked. Her new knowledge of his body was inescapable, but she didn’t have to keep it at the front of her mind where she would see it every time she closed her eyes. She could push it to the back of her head.
She could.
Even when she was curled up next to him—huddled for warmth, she corrected herself—for the entire night.
“Your turn,” he said, a hand outstretched.
The tips of his fingers were cold as she slid her hand into his. Then his hand closed around hers and the heat of his body shot through her, making her weak in the knees and confusing everything she’d just promised herself about sex, and forgetting, and complications. She peered over the center console, but by the time she could see his face, he’d hidden his reaction to the touch. If he’d had one in the first place, that was. There was always the possibility that she was imagining the furtive glances and curious eyes.
God, Selina. You meet one nice guy and all you can think about is . . .
Well, what was she thinking about? Sex? A quick fling bound to end when they parted in a couple of weeks? More? And what was more?
She pushed off with her foot, whacking her head on the ceiling of the SUV in the process. She overcorrected her climb, shifted her weight, and fell right into Marc’s lap.
“Ouch,” she cried out, rubbing the top of her head.
“Are you okay?” His arms were wrapped around her, catching her and holding her against him.
“Yes.” When she shifted, his arms popped away from around her, as if they had been a rubber band stretched too tightly and suddenly cut. She scrambled away from him in the tight space until she was at the other end of the bench seat. They were as far from each other as possible in such small confines. Hers wasn’t the only breath coming in a little fast and heavy, she realized. And she wasn’t stupid enough to think her racing heart was the exertion of getting into the backseat. Not when she could trace where Marc’s arms had been around her.
“So,” she said with a clap of her hands. “Let’s figure out our bedding and get settled. It’s getting late.”
“Right.”
With some minor movements, he was able to get to his knees, and there was his nice butt again. It was dark, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t enough light to see—and to appreciate—what was there.
Zippers rasped, and Marc rustled through his luggage. Soft pieces of clothing hit Selina’s shoulder as he yanked them out. She pulled a couple of heavy coats, his emergency blanket, and ski pants to the middle seat. He collapsed back on his butt, his fist full of ski caps, scarves, and two pairs of gloves.
“There,” he said, triumphantly setting the rest of the warm clothing on the seat between them. He grabbed one of the ski coats and shoved his arms through it. “I hate to let any warm air out, but I need to pee. At least you’ll get privacy to change. Take whatever of the clothing you want. I’ll use the rest.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He nodded, then cold air rushed into the car and Marc stepped out. For the brief moment that the door was open, she heard nothing. The snow was already deep enough that it muffled even the sound of itself falling. There was no wind, no cars, no squawks of owls. Without Marc’s comforting presence to keep it at bay, the oppressive weight of desolation oozed down the sides of the car, inflating like a balloon into the empty space. Selina took a couple of deep breaths to remind herself that she was free, then focused on her task, sorting through the items Marc had pulled from the back.
She shucked her jeans in favor of a pair of too-big ski pants and put some ski socks over her own. His puffy down coat looked more comfortable to sleep in—and warmer—than her structured winter coat, so she put that on, completing the whole look with a University of Washington knit cap topped with a purple pom-pom and a pair of black mittens.
The door opened and Marc climbed back into the car, bringing another blast of cold air with him.