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To make a pass.
To throw a fit.
But she doesn’t.
And eventually, the cold seeps in and I creep into the hall.
No sneak attack by a hysterical woman.
No sight of the woman at all.
Until I make it into the family room and spy a pile of blankets and clothes and towels in front of the fireplace.
Which has a pathetically small fire inside it.
Christ.
It’s like she got it started with the three logs that were in the basket next to the fireplace itself when I have a full rack of firewood on the side of the house—only she wouldn’t know that, would she?
She probably figured that’s all the firewood I have and—
My eyes catch on the basket, see there’s still a piece of wood remaining.
She didn’t use all of it.
She saved one piece.
“Christ,” I mutter. This woman is going to be the death of herself. Sighing, I move quietly past her—and the mutt who slits open his eyes and growls softly at me—carefully shoving my feet into my boots and opening the front door. I slip out into the storm, walk to the rack, fill my arms with wood, and bring the logs back over to the fireplace.
She’s either an Oscar-worthy actress, or her shitty day has tired her out because she doesn’t move as I unload the wood, which isn’t a quiet task even though I’m trying to make it one. I pile on some logs, wait for the flames to catch, then stack the rest in the basket.
But as I turn back for the bedroom, I see that she’s shivering.
“Fucking hell,” I say, grinding my teeth together as I go back down the hall and grab a few more blankets, grab my expensive ass pillow.
I carry them out and drop them to the floor next to her, debating.
Then because I’m fucking tired and I’ve carried them this far. I shake one out, tuck it around her, trying to cushion her from the cold, hard floor. I spread another over the top of her, and then one more, the heat of the flames already starting to warm the space. Since she’s already rolled off the pillow, I prop my good one beneath her, ignoring Steve’s warning growl, then start to head back to the bedroom.
But, growl or not, my gaze goes back to the tiny demon dog, and I see he’s burrowed closer to Nova, as though seeking out her warmth.
I stop, head dropping back, eyes on the ceiling, shoulders heaving with a sigh. “You are a fucking idiot, Lake Jordan.”
But,idiotor not, I stride back down the hall, rip my spare blanket from the foot of my bed and I carry it back to the family room.
And I spread it out over the demon pup.
Who sighs and closes his eyes.
I am a fucking idiot.
I still stop and shift the grate, settle one more log on top of the growing flames, then make sure the metal mesh is secure so no dangerous sparks will escape before heading back down the hall.
Into my bedroom.
Closing the door softly behind me.
Then opening it an inch, just in case I need to hear—
