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She’d tossed some men’s sweats at him so he struggled into them. When he had dressed he did feel better, but still his mind remained a tumultuous mess. And he needed to apologize to Iris and clear the air.
She walked in a short time later and approached, where she handed him a cup of hot soup. Creamy chicken soup.
“Slowly,” she ordered as she sat on the floor closer to the fire.
He didn’t want slowly, he wanted to drain it like he was a goddamn vacuum. But he listened and drank it carefully while he watched her from beneath lowered lashes. The woman was beautiful. Her haughty cheekbones and plump lips drew his eyes to her heart-shaped face.
Crunching behind him was a good reminder there was a dog in the room. He tightened his grip on the blue collapsible mug in his hand.
“You seem very prepared for this storm.”
She flicked her gaze to him then away without saying a word. He huffed in frustration.
What is her problem? Why am I in the wrong here?
“I’m sorry, okay?”
“For what?” She didn’t even look back to him.
He ground his jaw. He wanted her to look at him. Wanted her to desire him like he did her.
“Whatever I did to piss you off. For lying there with a fucking boner as you were tending my injuries, for making you misunderstand what caused it, for breathing, I don’t know! Pick something.”
“You can’t piss me off because that would mean you had power over me. And I don’t know you, so that’s not a thing that’s happening.” A shoulder shrug. “If it makes you feel better, fine. Apologize. I didn’t expect it or need it.”
“I basically shoved my dick in your face. How do you not expect an apology for that?” He finished his soup and immediately wanted more as the warmth moved through him.
“I was tending your injuries. I would have done the same if you were a woman I found out there. It wasn’t anything sexual. It was about survival.”
It was sexual for me.
But he had to pick his battles. “Okay,” he acquiesced. “You should have expected an apology, and a thank you.”
“Not happening. You were in a private plane. Means money and, offense intended, but the people I’ve met who have the money to have private planes are assholes.”
“Yet you saved me.”
“I said the people in the plane were the assholes, not that I was.”
He smiled at her teasing, much preferring it to the cold impersonal tone from before. His savior didn’t seem too concerned about getting more food into him, so he waited.
“How’s our situation here?”
Her big dog walked into view and settled beside her, his eyes barely staying on Bradford, but somehow it was obvious the canine watched him.
“For the moment, fine. So long as this part of the roof doesn’t collapse. Everything else in here has outdoor exposure so I’d prefer to stay here and keep those doors closed to retain as much warmth as possible. There is food in tubs in the kitchen, but we’ll have to heat water on the camp stove I brought. Restroom is outside. I found a good bit of wood and have been bringing it in so I don’t have to trek through the cold to get it when it’s needed.”
“You had men’s clothing with you. Is someone joining you?” Bradford wasn’t appreciative of the jealousy that soared through him at that thought.
“No. And if you were thinking of trying some shit, he will kill you, and I am not an easy target.”
Yeah, he should just keep his mouth shut, because he was only making matters worse for himself. “That’s not what I meant.”
Holy crap, he was all out of sorts. The accident, the exposure out in the cold, this woman. He wasn’t sure what it was but even though he knew he should shut the fuck up, here he was opening his mouth again.
“Don’t care. How are your limbs?”
Grateful for the change of subject, he moved them, still not getting to his feet. “Tingling pain. I’ll take that as a good sign.”
“Good.” She pushed to her feet, the dog at her side rising immediately. “I’ll be back.”
She turned and strode to the double glass doors which he didn’t think kept out that much cold, but something was better than nothing. Plus, Bradford got distracted by the way her ass filled out her jeans.
Wait. Good? Why was it good and where the fuck was she going? Or rather, where had she gone?
Bradford didn’t camp. His idea of camping was anyplace less than a five-star. So to be stuck in this place was quite an eye-opener for him. However, he wasn’t used to plane crashes either. He didn’t have his phone, hell, he knew he was lucky to have walked away from the crash.
Sorrow brushed over him, and he wished that he could notify the families of the ones who had been flying with him, sooner rather than later. For himself, well, Hastings was off in some war-torn country doing whatever it was he did and Livingston… He was cleaning up another mess of Bradford’s.
