Page 108 of And Now, Back to You

I rub my thumb across her cheek. “That must be difficult for you.”

She shrugs.

“How many different parts are you forced to play, Delilah?”

She stares up at me for another second with a sad little smile, then rests her cheek back against my sweatshirt.

“When I’m here with you? Just the one.”

AIDEN VALENTINE: You guys lost power?

JACKSON CLARK: Earlier this morning, yeah.

DELILAH STEWART: The woman who owns the lodge—Lottie—she’s been trying to get the generators going, but the ice has everything frozen over. Sorry for the scratchy call-in, but it’s the best we could do.

AIDEN VALENTINE: I don’t think our listeners mind.

CHAPTER 27

DELILAH

“You need to relax,” I say, eyes heavy, shivering despite the four quilts piled on top of me. There’s an unrelenting boulder behind me beneath the blankets, his arm like a harness over my waist.

“I am relaxed,” Jackson grumbles, right under my ear. He’s angry, for some reason, and I’m too tired to deal with it.

“I put on the snow pants. I don’t know what you’re so mad about.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon helping Lottie out around the lodge. Well, Jackson did. He delivered space heaters to rooms and salted the sidewalks while I talked to my new best friend Dustin—Dusty, to his friends—in the café. He had one of those portable coffeemakers that you use when camping. He made me my very own cup of coffee.

I think Jackson is still jealous over that cup of coffee.

“I’m not mad about the snow pants.”

“Then what are you mad about?”

Jackson sighs, his knees bumping up against mine. “You’re shivering.”

I turn to look at him over my shoulder. All I can make out of him is the curve of his jaw and the straight line of his nose. His glasses are folded up on the nightstand next to my emergency Swedish Fish.

Another shiver wracks my body. “I’m not trying to,” I whisper. “It’s cold, Jackson.”

The room quickly descended into cold and uncomfortable as soon as the sun set, the massive window leeching all the warmth from the space. The portable space heater is doing its best, but it’s negative fifteen out there.

Jackson makes another low, disgruntled sound. “I know it is, Delilah.”

I huff and turn back on my side, trying to ignore that hand that feels like an ice block on my hip. He’s not even holding me.

Another furious shiver starts at my shoulders and trips down my spine until I’m shivering into the blankets, both hands curled into fists. I wish I could tuck myself into a shell and hide away until the power comes on. Generate my own warmth.

Jackson sighs behind me and shifts his hand, ice-cold fingertips slipping under the hem of the oversized sweater he forced over my head. I squeak when he touches the bare skin of my belly, kicking my legs wildly when he presses his entire palm right above my belly button.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-hiss.

“Trying not to rupture an organ,” he grunts. “Stop kicking me.” He drags my body into his. “Be still,” he orders.

My body goes liquid and lax at the demand in his voice. Okay, I think faintly. I guess that’s a thing. I let him arrange me however he pleases, my body tucked tight to his, his arm under my sweater and his face in my neck.

“What are you doing?” I ask again, this time in a whisper.