by Jean Oram
That did it. No more Mr. Nice Guy. “You know why people like you die in house fires, Simone?”
She didn’t answer.
“Do you?” His voice was harsh, commanding.
“No, I don’t flipping know. I’m not in the mood for a pop quiz right now. I’m freezing.”
Below the anger he could hear the tears in her voice. He pulled the shovel up to his side, turning it so the scoop was extended to her, his grip firm on the handle. If she sat on the blade he might be able to drag her up over the loose stuff and onto the crust.
“They die in house fires,” he said calmly, snapping the shovel out of her reach so she’d focus on him, “because they’re too damn self-reliant to accept help when they need it.”
She lost control of her shuddering.
“Grab hold. Sit on it, lay on it, whatever you can do, just get your weight on the scoop and hug the shaft—you’ll be steadier that way.”
She hesitated, likely put off by his tone, until he said, “Do it.”
Her eyes met his in the thin sliver of light from the flashlight at his side and she tentatively placed her mittened hands around the shovel, stretching to do so, the blanket still wrapped around her higgledy-piggledy.
“Hold on as tight as you can and don’t move a muscle.”
She wrapped her arms tighter.
He gave her a nod to check that she was ready, then tugged her toward him. Her legs slowly straightened like a pulled-out accordion and the shelf beneath Josh began to buckle. Carefully, he wriggled backward, inching Simone out, drawing her like a sled over the soft snow.
She tried to help by kicking her legs, the large snowshoes flopping and catching on the drifts, tilting her sideways so she almost fell off the shovel’s blade. He halted her movements with a harsh, “If this had been a house fire, you would have just died, as well as put my life in danger by trying to do it your way. Don’t. Help.”
She allowed him to haul her the rest of the way out as though she were a dead fish, then help her stand on her snowshoes. She looked weak, half-frozen, and he worried that she hadn’t actually finally acquiesced to him being in charge, but that, rather, she might be two seconds away from becoming a human ice cube.
“I thought you were going to leave me,” she said, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
“You are pretty stubborn.” He watched her for a second. She was in no shape to trying wrangling the snowshoes over the uneven drifts. Picking her up, he carried her in the direction of the outhouse before deciding that was a death mission. He turned, heading back to the cottage.
“You’ll relieve yourself in a bucket back inside where it’s warm.”
She didn’t fight him and he picked up his pace, worried about her lack of pep.
They landed on the back porch sooner than he thought possible, and not pausing to take off their boots or outerwear other than her snowshoes, Josh placed Simone right in front of the fireplace. He knocked the biggest chunks of snow off her, then carefully placed two logs on the dwindling blaze and yanked her chair as close as he dared. The blanket he’d tossed to her under the tree was caked with snow and he discarded it before pressing his bare hands against her skin, assessing the level of chill.
Her cheeks were icy and her fingers so cold they wouldn’t be able to undo her snap or fly. He hurried to the kitchen and plugged in the electric kettle they’d used for hot toddies, before returning to her side. “Should I wake the girls?”
She shook her head, stopping him when he leaned back to holler for help. He eyed her for a split second before agreeing with her decision. She might be too embarrassed to call the others, but he knew what needed to be done—and waiting for anyone right now could cost Simone dearly.
He took her bare hands and slipped them under his sweater, instinctively jumping back at the frigid touch. She tried to pull away, but he held her gaze with a shake of his head.
“We need to take off your jeans. The snow packed into them is going to give you frostbite, if it hasn’t already. Plus when it melts it’s going to keep the cold against your skin.”
“I’m okay,” she said, fighting the chatter of her teeth and momentarily winning, before they began rattling again.
“No, you’re not. I make the executive decisions. If I say you need something, then that’s what you’re going to get, you hear me? This isn’t a game where you win independence points. This is life or death.”
He freed one hand from hers, tipping her chin so she’d be forced to meet his gaze. “Do you trust me, Simone?”
She didn’t answer, seeming so small pressed against him, so vulnerable, lost and in need of direction. Not just with her clothing, but with her life.
“Do you trust me to make that call for you?” he asked.
With tears in her eyes, she nodded.
“Then we need to take off your pants.”
* * *
Josh’s hands were like fire against her numbed skin. Every sensation was as intense as though she was being singed by live wires. She wasn’t sure if it was the cold that had taken over her flesh or Josh’s gentle, careful touch.
He released the button of her jeans, his fingers tugging down her zipper before gripping the waistband and shucking off the denim in one swift move that left her quaking in the fire’s heat. He pushed her onto a chair, then pulled the inside-out pants over her ankles. Thank goodness she’d shaved her legs that morning. She knew this wasn’t the time to think about those sorts of vain things, but she was a single woman hopped up on hormones and he was a hot specimen of manhood stripping her with single-minded determination. Not thinking about the state of her legs would be like the prime minister not thinking about politics.
“Your feet stayed relatively warm.” He ran his hands over her feet, ankles, calves, up to her knees and thighs, assessing for frostbite, and she wanted to slip off the chair and into his arms. She felt exhausted and colder than she could ever have imagined, and wanted to suck in his strength and warmth like a hungry vampire.
Vulnerable. That’s how she felt. But she felt safe with JC and trusted him to take care of her without fuss or drama. It surprised her, but it was Josh she wanted stripping her in front of the fire, encouraging her to take a sip of warm tea, wrapping a blanket around her as he moved with swift confidence, setting her up for survival.
As much as she hated to admit it, there were some things men like JC were great for and right now he was doing it. He was rescuing her and she needed it. He neared recklessness in his haste to stoke the fire, and she set her pride aside and listened, obeying him with a submissive compliance she didn’t know she was capable of. She hadn’t treated him in a way she was proud of, and yet, no questions asked, he was taking care of her with an efficiency that didn’t leave her feeling helpless. In fact, she almost enjoyed it. He wasn’t leaching her power or strength, he was simply caring for her, carrying the torch when she couldn’t.
He held a hand in front of her to test the heat radiating from the roaring fire.
“Can you feel the warmth?” he asked. “At all?”
She thought about it, then shook her head. “Not much.”
He grabbed her chair and yanked her back an extra foot. “Don’t move closer. Not yet.”
She wasn’t sure whether she was still clutching the blanket over her bra or not, her hands had gone so numb. She still had to pee, but knew she wouldn’t be able to go without JC’s help. She could hold it a bit longer.
“I thought you were going to leave me out there.” Her voice sounded small, broken, and a tear slipped out.
JC squatted in front of her, his expression serious and definitely worried, which made her tears that much harder to hold back. “Do you really think that poorly of me?”
Yes.
No.
But when he’d disappeared after she’d been such an independent cow, she really wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d left her there. She’d truly believed that if she’d just gotten the angle right she could have crawled out
. However, she knew now that she would have frozen by then.
“I’m sorry.”
“You were cold and stuck.”
“And a bitch,” she whispered.
He smiled, but didn’t agree, and she loved him for it.
“If that had been a house fire I would have cost us our lives,” she said, taking all her strength to acknowledge how wrong she’d been.
She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, to let him know without words that she trusted him, appreciated him. Saw that he was special. He was a decent man and probably one of the best.
Just not the man she needed. Not a man she could get along with for the rest of her life. But maybe they could stop fighting and be friends.
“You okay?” JC brushed his thumb across her cheek. She barely felt his touch, her jaw struggling to hold in the chatter that kept shaking her body. “Does anything hurt?”
She shook her head. Only my pride. And sense of self. I used to believe I was a nice person.
But the way she’d treated JC the night before, she knew she had some growing up to do before she had her baby. It wasn’t right to lash out at someone just because he made her experience things she didn’t feel strong enough to handle.
He tucked a hot water bottle from the kitchen behind her back and took the chair beside her. The heat of the bottle felt amazing. He leaned over to brush her cheek again, wiping away tears.
“I’m not really crying.”
He lifted the cup of warm tea, but pulled it back when she reached for it. “No.” He tucked the blanket tighter around her body, then held the mug to her lips, refusing to allow her to help. “Sip.”
The warm liquid felt good and she sipped more, watching JC. Eventually, he shifted closer and lifted her feet from under the blankets, tucking them under his sweater as he had with her hands. He sucked in a sharp breath when her soles hit his abs, but kept her feet against him, wrapping his palms around the tops. “Do you feel this?”
She nodded. “My feet are okay.”
“They’re pretty cold, too. We’ve got to start slow—you might have hypothermia. And if you do, you’ll soon feel something, although I doubt it will be pleasant. Tingling, pain. It’s all normal.”
Something fun to look forward to.
They sat in silence, his heat seeping into her, slowly reducing her shivers. JC was careful to warm her without infringing on her space, and she half wondered if he was afraid to use skin-to-skin contact. Not that she blamed him. She hadn’t been all that nice to him, going as far as to imply that he was gay. She didn’t know what it was about the designs and why she couldn’t acknowledge that he may have made them. She supposed it would mean that she’d have to reassess her old perception of him—a thought that scared her even more than the attraction that simmered between them.
In due time he pushed her chair aside, as well as his own, and pulled the couch a few feet from the fire. He helped her move to the cushions, the new spot chilly in comparison to the old one even though it was just as close to the flames.
“Do you still need to use the washroom?”
“Can I warm up more first?” The thought of having to move away from the fire was less than appealing.
“You sure?”
She nodded. She could hold it a little while longer.
JC yanked his sweater and T-shirt over his head in one fluid move, leaving him bare chested. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of all those toned muscles rippling as he created a nest of blankets around them on the couch. What was he going to do? Press his advantage and go for skin-on-skin? She didn’t know whether to feel shy, be ticked off or enthusiastically remove her lingerie in anticipation.
Instead, he simply tucked her into a ball, pulling her shins against his chest, slowly providing more heat as she huddled in the nest of blankets.
“Did you really make those things that Tigger was looking at on your phone?”
“Even the candy-apple red ones. Are they any good?”
Simone paused, unsure. If she complimented him would it go to his head? Would he become arrogant and ignore her opinion because he felt as though he was already at the top of his game and just needed to be discovered?
“Be honest,” he said, displaying a genuine need to know.
“I’m fairly certain you already know they’re exquisite.” She pulled the blanket up under her chin, edging her butt closer to him so she could steal more of his heat. This going-slow thing sucked. She wanted to press the length of her spine against his chest and have him wrap himself around her.
“Do I have talent?”
When she seemed reluctant to answer, he added quickly, “Be a straight shooter. I need to know.”
“And what if what I say goes to your head?”
“Everything goes to my head—don’t you know my type?” While his tone had a sharpness as though he’d been insulted, she knew he was joking, trying to break down the barriers they’d erected over the past day. Despite herself she laughed. The man was a piece of work. So persistent and determined. Traits she definitely admired and valued. Traits that had gotten her into hot water a time or two herself, when she’d let hers shine.
“You have some serious talent. You could go far with this. But…” She paused, making sure he was still listening. “It’s going to take a lot of hard work and you’re going to need to fine-tune your color sense and possibly a few other things. Competition is fierce and there’s no room for ‘good enough’.”
He nodded, his expression serious.
“What?” she asked softly.
“How do you know if you’re ready?”
“You jump in.”
“No testing the waters?” He gave her a quick look of assessment, his forehead tight.
She shrugged.
“Nothing about you is quiet or understated, is it?” he asked, his voice low, almost admiring. “Bold and beautiful.”
She felt heat flood to her face. He’d just called her beautiful. And meant it. And not in a “you’re beautiful and I want to bed you” kind of way, but in a cherishing one. That was new. She liked it.
“Thank you,” she said, unable to meet his steady gaze. “But I believe you mean strident and overly confident. Maybe even pushy and annoyingly outspoken, as well.”
He laughed quietly so as not to wake the others. “Yeah, that, too.” But instead of raising her hackles, she found herself laughing along with him. What was it about this man that allowed him to slip under her barbed wire, anyway? It was as though they understood each other on some level she hadn’t even known was possible. Made a connection.
“So?” he asked, when the rich sound of his laughter died away. “You really think I could do something with this?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t quite fit your image.”
“Tell me about it,” he said with a groan.
She leaned forward, pressing into him more fully when a cold breeze seeped under the blankets, making her shiver. “I think your image might be inaccurate.”
They shared a look, and with a tremor of anticipation she realized she was about to ask him to warm her, skin to skin.
CHAPTER 9
Simone woke up clinging to a bare chest. She pulled her cheek off the warm skin to a magnificent view of a sleeping man. Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas to her.
She closed her eyes again, at war with herself. She loved how JC felt, protecting her with his body’s heat. But she hated the way she wanted to run her hands down his tautly muscled skin. Her fingers wrapped themselves in the tuft of chest hair between his pectorals. It was a slightly darker color than his head of hair, more similar to his jaw’s stubble. She shuddered, still slightly chilled from her stupid outhouse adventure. She’d ended up relieving herself in an old plastic tub, JC disposing of it over the veranda’s edge for her so she wouldn’t have to go out in the cold. Humiliating and disempowering didn’t even begin to touch what a blow that had been to her identity as an independent, self-reliant island unto herself.
But the worst blow was that she didn’t even care that she wasn’t this big, tough, do-it-herself dynamo at the moment. She wanted to just cuddle up and let him deal with everything.
Which meant she must have frozen her brain under that damn tree. How stupid was she, not testing the drift’s edge while tying her yarn to the branch? One minute she’d been standing there, the next moment she was slipping under the spruce, snowshoe folded under her, dug into the snow, trapped.
What would’ve happened if JC hadn’t woken up and come looking for her? Still, she couldn’t imagine a world where she’d willingly wake up JC in the middle of the night so he could accompany her to the little girls’ room.
A large hand covered hers, holding it still.
“That hair is attached, you know.”
“Sorry.” Her fingers flew open, releasing their grip.
“Are you warm enough?” JC’s voice was rich, deep, and gravelly in all the right ways, sending tingles down her spine. She leaned away before realizing that her lacy bra was rather see-through. She pulled the blankets around her, leaving JC’s rock-hard chest exposed.
Her flesh felt chilled without his body pressed against hers.
JC sat up, tucking the blanket more fully around her shoulders, allowing her to take it with her as she climbed off the couch and practically into the fireplace. He must have melted, sleeping that close to the flames.
She reached for her phone, touching a button to wake it. She had to take her morning shot in an hour and ten minutes. Not much time. Plus she’d slept in. Everyone had. The cottage was eerily silent without the howling wind rattling the place.
“Merry Christmas,” JC said. He was stretched out on the couch, his hands tucked behind his head, watching her, his chest tempting and bare.
Was he really a good guy? He’d been so kind last night. A thoughtful, caring gentleman who had allowed her a semblance of dignity while taking charge in a way that didn’t leave her bristling. He hadn’t made her feel weak or powerless—at least not intentionally. Anything that made her feel less strong was because she had been fighting imaginary battles with a very decent man.