“Cat got your tongue?”
“Not yet. But you’re welcome to try.”
In spite of myself, I chuckle. “You wish.”
Sorensen finishes the food, clears the table, and puts the silverware in the dishwasher. Then he grabs a broom and dustpan from a metal cabinet that’s concealed behind a screen.
I intercept him on the way to the dining area and hold my hands out. “Let me. Payback for helping me get Octavia home.”
He hands them over and heads to the couch where he sits and stretches out his long legs. I make quick work of the scattered hair and put the broom away.
“Can you get me blankets and a pillow now and head to your bedroom area?”
“Are you planning to go to sleep right now?”
Between the alcohol and lack of sleep, I’m exhausted. “Yes.”
He assesses me for several seconds, then rises and disappears. A couple minutes later he returns with a feather pillow with a white flannel pillowcase, matching flannel sheets, and a soft fleece weighted blanket. Very utilitarian.
He hands me the stack of bedding and moves to the couch. After shoving it back, he removes the cushions and sets them on a coffee table of metal and opaque glass that matches the screens and bookshelves.
With a couple of switches flicked on the couch, he transforms it into a sleeper bed. The mattress is low to the ground, but extremely inviting. As I make the bed, he strides to a cabinet and retrieves a space heater.
“Better,” I say, warming my hands in front of it. I climb under the covers. I’m still cold, but not freezing.
He blows out the lanterns and pauses at the center window to stare out.
When I speak, my voice is soft. “The area and the building are terrible, but the view is incredible.”
“Yeah.” He’s gorgeous in the low light. Not the pretty kind of handsome of the clean-shaven Declan Heyworths of the world. He’s ruggedly sexy, in the way of pioneers and cowboys.
Santa fucking Maria. Donotstart.
“Night.”
“Goodnight, Viking.”
12
ARYA
Iwake from a nightmare because I have to pee. It’s so dark I don’t dare get out of bed until I’ve fumbled for the lamp’s switch and turned it on. When I roll out from under the blanket, I curse at the freezing floor. How the hell does he live in this icebox?
I shuffle through the maze of partitions to the bathroom. At least it has a door, which I swing closed. As I drop my yoga pants and sit on the chilly seat, I mumble the word fuck over and over in rapid succession.
When I’m done, I can’t dress fast enough. I’d kill to have a pair of fuzzy spa socks on right now. After I wash my hands in water that’s also cold because I’m in too much of a rush to wait for it to warm up, I hustle out of the bathroom.
On the way back to bed, I see light outside. For a moment, I ignore it, diving back under the blanket. When I lie back though, I can’t rest.
For fuck’s sake.
I climb from the bed and hurry to the windows.
The light is near the cars. It seems to be focused on the Mercedes. Is someone trying to steal my car?
“Hey!” I bang my fist on the window.
The glass is so thick I doubt the asshole can hear me. I grab the lamp and plug it in, setting it next to the center window. I expect it to give me a better view, but it doesn’t.
