Her scowl was answer enough, so he plucked a lump of cheese from the bedside table and slid under the covers. Her delicate hand, fingers stained with ink, snuck out and snagged the proffered cheese. A moment later, a muffled “thank you” reached his ears.
He smirked. “You’re welcome.”
Several moments passed before the rest of her head emerged from the blankets. Color had returned to her cheeks, and he relaxed a few increments. “There you are. Feeling better?”
“Yes,” she admitted, as though irritated by her body’s ability to maintain a healthy temperature. “It’s still so cold in here.”
The storm must have intensified, because a howling wind had joined the harsh pings of ice assaulting the windowpanes. The little wood stove was doing its best, but it was no match for the frigid temperatures on the other side of the thin wall. Garrett poured a small measure of whisky and handed it to her. “This will take some of the chill off and help you sleep.” As she lifted the glass to her lips, he stood, tucking the blankets around her.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll sleep next to the fire.” He eyed the concrete floor warily and hoped his coat was dry enough to serve as a blanket.
“That’s ridiculous. You’ll be miserable and cold.” She pushed herself up and leaned against the wall, her plaited hair draped over one shoulder. “Stay here.”
“Stay where?” He knew the answer, but wouldn’t let himself believe it. His greatest wish and nightmare coming true at once.
“In the bed. With me.”
“With you?”
Sadie bristled at the incredulity in his tone, her bravado wavering. “Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor. So I suppose yes, with me.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she winced.
He dragged his hand through his hair and tugged, dropping the blanket off one muscled shoulder. She may or may not have drooled a little. “Sadie, what if someone found out about this? I’d hate for your reputation—”
“Don’t you dare start with that antiquated, patriarchal notion of purity, or I will pound you!”
The corner of his mouth pulled up. “Have I mentioned I enjoy your alliterative threats?”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop distracting me.” She was unsure if she was speaking to Garrett in his entirety or simply to the bicep that had slipped free of his blanket. “And I’ve shared a bed with a man before, so you needn’t worry about ruining me.”
Something dark crossed his expression, and he pulled the quilt back up over his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean you’d be sharing my bed like that,” she stammered. Could she slip back under the quilt and pretend she wasn’t there? “I just meant—”
“I know.” He hesitated, then approached the cot, each step more tentative than the last. “If you’re sure…”
“I am.” She wasn’t at all, but the whisky had made her bold enough to lie about it. “Now get in before I get colder.”
With a deep breath, Garrett lifted the quilts and ducked underneath, turning to his side away from her. She moved as far over towards the wall as she could, but the brick was almost as cold as the windowpanes. She breathed slowly, but each inhale chilled her a little more. Soon she was shivering again.
He huffed. “You’re not sleeping.”
“Neither are you.”
“Are you still cold?”
Yes. “No.”
He chuckled. “Liar.” He sat up and, in one lumberjack-worthy move, scooped her up and deposited her on his other side, shifting so her back was against his front, her head tucked under his chin.
Straining to look at him over her shoulder, she scowled. “Now you’ll be cold.”
“I’m a Scotsman. I don’t get cold.”
She hummed low in her throat as she laid her head back down. The man was a furnace in himself, and soon she felt herself drifting off, warmed by his—
“Jesus Christ!”she shrieked, leaping off the bed.
