“You’re right,” he grumbled as he stormed past her into the small room in the back of the firehouse, tossing his drenched coat over a chair as he passed. “I’ll work on that, and you gather some of the quilts Rose left on the cot.”
The space had most likely been an office in the building’s former iteration, but Ben had outfitted it as a spare bedroom for when anyone stayed late working. A wood-burning stove occupied one corner, and the opposite wall was dominated by a simple cot that Rose had later covered with thick blankets and soft pillows, insistent that even activists need to be comfortable.
Garrett crouched, opened the damper, and shoved kindling alongside the few pieces of firewood still inside. The tinderbox was, of course, stocked with flint, steel, and matches, and a neat pile of additional kindling lay in a basket beside the stove. Within moments, a healthy flame grew, and he sat for a moment, letting the heat press against his face.
Their disastrous and fruitless mission to gather firewood had proven he wouldn’t be able to deliver her safely to her apartment, let alone make it back to his apartment in Midtown. He was stuck here, overnight at least, with Sadie. The woman had been a nightly fixture for months, but only in his dreams or when he stroked his cock to climax. Now there was no escape from his torment, and even less chance of hiding how he felt about her.
If only she felt anything for him in return. He’d been so confident asking her to join him for dinner the month before, and she’d looked so beautiful when she’d arrived, the blue of her dress—adress!—an exact match for the shade of her eyes. His heart had nearly burst from pride—she’d dressed up forhim, as though he mattered.
He’d chosen that restaurant because his sister’s new husband ran the place, and Garrett knew they’d be well cared for. Franny was two years older than him, beautiful to a fault with her giving smile and strawberry blond locks, and he desperately wanted her to meet Sadie. He’d talked to Franny enough about his infatuation with his not-secretary, and now it was time to introduce them.
But Sadie’s sky-blue eyes had been cold when she entered, sweeping over him in silent judgment.You look like one of the help, she’d said, and immediately Garrett knew his fatal mistake.
His Sadie was a product of a class that pretended to tolerate Garrett’s presence. He’d been the boy whose clever mind and prowess on the athletic field allowed him entry into the elite world of New York boarding schools, and his wealthy classmates never forgot to remind him of his place. Though he’d long since replaced his threadbare shirts and second-hand shoes for the uniform of a successful financier, he still only played at belonging, making more money for those who already had too much.
He’d believed Sadie was different, that she saw beyond his past to the man he was inside, to the activist who fought for change so the barriers between New Yorkers would no longer hold anyone back. But those words, so callously thrown at him, were a stark reminder of reality, leaving him too flattened and devastated to respond.
She had no desire to marry, and even if she did, it would never be to Garrett MacInnes, one of the help.
“It’s already warmer in here.”
He startled at her voice, landing firmly on his backside once again. Scrambling to his feet, Garrett brushed the soot from his hands and planted them on his hips. To survive this night, he would need to keep his distance. Be poised, indifferent. Utterly beyond reproach.
Her brows furrowed, and she pointed towards his lower half, where a flap of fabric hung loose between his legs. “Your trousers are still ripped.”
When he’d wished for looser trousers earlier, this was not the way he intended to achieve it. “I don’t keep spare pants in my pockets, unfortunately.”
“They’re distracting.”
Distracting? That was interesting. “I have long johns beneath.”
She shrugged, then a shiver racked her body.
Christ, she hadn’t warmed at all? The entire time he’d been fumbling around to get inside, she’d been beyond the reach of the awning as the icy rain soaked her clothing. Unable—more realistically, unwilling—to stop himself, he stepped to her and held her shoulders. “You’redrenched, Sadie. Why haven’t you changed?”
Her teeth chattered. “I also don’t carry a spare skirt in my pockets.”
He tossed his hands in the air and uttered the phrase that he knew would ultimately be the death of him. “That’s enough. Take off your dress.”
Chapter 4
Herjawdropped.“Ibeg your pardon?”
The storm outside was far tamer than the tempest in his hazel eyes. “I’m tired of discussing trousers, and if you don’t take that dress off, I’m going to do it myself.”
“Your backside is soaked, too! Why are you lecturing me when you—”
“Fine!” His hands went to work on his belt, dragging the leather through the loops and tossing it on the floor. A moment later, he’d wrestled off his boots and stockings, and he threw the torn garment on the ground with a flourish. “There, are you happy?”
Oh, this had been a terrible mistake. Because the long johns below his trousers only confirmed what her imagination had created for her nighttime fantasies. Thosethighs, the latent strength he carried in each step. But she damned his shirt for being so long that she couldn’t see what she felt earlier, the hard appendage pressed against her belly when they fell together. Perhaps if she leaned over—
“Your turn.” His eyes flashed in a dare, then immediately widened in horror. “Damn, Sadie, I shouldn’t have done this.” He shook his head and turned towards the door. “I’m going—”
“No,” she barked. She wondered if he heard her heart thudding over the sizzle of the fire. “You’re right, I’m being prudish.” Her fingertips, still numb from their adventure outside, fumbled with her garters and the ties at her waist until she had them released. With a deep breath, she shimmied out of her stockings and let her skirt pool on the floor around her ankles.
For a moment, Sadie wished she had the talent to capture Garrett’s expression on a canvas. He swallowed as he raked his gaze over her legs. There wasn’t much to see, as her utilitarian gray cotton chemise skimmed the middle of her shins. But she may as well be stretched out in the nude for the heat in his expression.
But it disappeared in a flash as he averted his focus to the fire. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse but flat. “Your shirt is soaked, too—”
