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Thank God she couldn’t showcase her embarrassment.
Opening her mouth to respond, she tore her attention from Wendy to find the four men watching them, expressions a mixture of intrigue as they did their best to pretend they hadn’t heard anything. Well, for three of them. Mitchell hid nothing.
Without contemplating the consequences of her actions, Hope lunged up from her seat and ran to Mitchell. “You’re okay,” she whispered against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his wet and very cold torso.
Two heartbeats later, she realized something. He wasn’t holding her back.
Shit. Swallowing her fierce humiliation, she lowered her arms and went to step away.
Mitchell didn’t let her move, though. His arms snapped tight around her, bringing her flush against his body.
“I’m okay,” he murmured, his large hands stroking soothingly along her spine.
She simply held on tighter, not caring about the moisture soaking into her skin and clothing. Damn the tears for pricking her eyes as relief poured through her.
“I promise.” He spoke directly by her ear. “I’d planned on changing clothes before doing this to ensure you stayed dry and warm.” His words were soft and intimate. “But you shot that to shit. And I’m curious, in this scenario you ladies were talking about, who plays the Viking?”
Hope shook her head, determined not to divulge that bit of information.
“You’re the Viking, Mitchell! In case you were wondering!” Wendy hollered and Hope wanted the floor to open up and swallow her.
“Now that is what I wanted to know, Flykra.” His words rumbled along her ear.
Hope didn’t want to pull back, afraid he would see all of her shame.
“I need a welcome like that,” Erick announced. “Ladies? Any takers?”
Tuning out their responses, Hope focused on how she was going to step away from Mitchell like everything had been planned.
“Upstairs, Flykra. I have to go upstairs and change. Want to come with?” He put enough space between them to look down as he tipped up her chin. Hope shook her head. She could handle the chill and wet he’d given her. If she followed him up, there would be a lot more wet, and that she didn’t need to think about. “Fine,” he huffed. “Your decision. I’ll be right down.” A wink and a quirk of his lips. “So damn good to know I’m the Viking.”
The ghost of a kiss he brushed over her trembling mouth had her needing that seat once more. He vanished up the stairs while she took gulping breaths, reining in her raging hormones.
Or trying to.
Chapter Eleven
Mitchell slumped against the door to the bedroom, chest heaving as he struggled against the lightheadedness swarming him. No one, other than those he considered his family, had ever been concerned for him. Not like Hope.
He hadn’t missed the fear in her gaze as she’d run to him. Without slowing or hesitating because of the condition of his clothing and cold skin, she’d wrapped her arms around him and uttered two words that shook the already shaky foundation of the final walls around his heart, knocking the shackles off and disintegrating them to a powder so fine it would blow away with his exhale of shock.
So many years of people pretending to care. Pretending to be a friend. All with a hidden agenda. His name, money—who knew what they’d desired?
Not this woman. He bit his lower lip. As much as he longed to buy it wholeheartedly, he was cynical. He couldn’t help it. Well, he could and he was working on it, but years of dealing with his mother and then Shawnee and their deviousness and schemes… Even though, if he thought about it logically, Hope hadn’t shown him one damn thing similar to those two women, aside from being the same sex.
But I’m not logical all the time, even though I am trying to move on from all this shit.
He shut down those thoughts. Right now, he wanted to return to Hope and tuck her against him, have her laughter in his ears and her smile in his sight.
Stripping, he walked across the floor to his bag and pulled out some dry clothes. He wrung the wet ones out in the bathroom then hung them over the chair, which he repositioned by the fire.
For a drawn-out moment, he stood there, hands curved around the back of the chair as he stared at the flames. Using the heel of his palm, he rubbed it over his chest.
“Fuck!”
Head down, he flexed his grip on the solid wood. Searching for clarity, he shook his head as it danced out of reach. He needed it. Desperately. He wasn’t able to merely push the absurdity of the entire situation out of his thoughts.
Sinking to the floor beside the chair, he crossed his legs and took several deep breaths, seeking that calm to get himself recentered. Mitchell settled his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes.
