Stay apart and freeze. Or come together and survive.
I already know which one it's going to be. I've known since the moment I walked through that door and saw her sitting by the fire.
I just don't know if I'll survive what comesafter.
CHAPTER 3
PIPER
I'm going to die.
Not from the blizzard, or the lack of food and water, but from this absolutely ridiculous attempt to sleep next to Harlon Giles without touching him.
The problem is physics.
Mostly.
Specifically, gravity and this sad mattress that dips toward the center like a black hole, constantly trying to pull me toward six-foot-fiveinches of brawny, beefy man.
I shift away for the hundredth time, muscles burning from the effort of holding myself on the very edge of the bed. My teeth chatter so hard I'm surprised they haven't cracked.
The quilts aren't enough. The fire is dying down—Harlon banked it to last through the night—and I’m cold. I can see my breath in the candlelight, little puffs of white that mock my attempts to bury into the covers.
Another shiver wracks through me, violent enough that my whole body jerks.
Harlon's breathing changes.
He must be so grossed out, stuck here with his brother's ex-girlfriend that he can’t stand, forced to share a bed. He’s probably counting the seconds until this hellish night ends.
He's lying there like a statue, and hasn't moved once since we got under the covers.That'show much he doesn't want to accidentally touch me.
The mattress creaks and dips again. It’s probably a spring giving up trying to hold this much weight. I slide an inch closer. My body instinctively arches toward his heat before my brain catches up and I jerk back.
Another violent shiver hits me, this one so intense my jaw locks up.
Harlon sucks in a sharp breath. "Damn it, Piper. You're still freezing?”
"I'm f-fine," I manage through chattering teeth.
"You're shaking so hard the whole bed is moving."
"S-sorry. I'll t-try to be more s-still."
A frustrated growl rumbles from his chest. "We need to share body heat."
Oh god, he sounds so angry…about having to touch me because staying alive demands it. "I kn-know you don't want to?—"
"This is about survival." His voice cracks slightly on the last word, and his burly arm snakes around my waist. He hauls me backward against his chest.
Holy hell,he's so wonderfully warm. It's like being wrapped in a heated blanket made of thick muscle and musky man, and every cell in my body demands I melt into it.
His other arm comes around, banding across my breasts, holding me close. Purely clinical…like I'm a hypothermia victim and he's administering first aid.
Which I guess I am. And he is.
Except there's nothing clinical about the way his hot breath ghosts across the back of my neck. Or about the way his bulky chest rises and falls against my back, each breath slightly uneven.
I try to stay still, but my body has other ideas. It seeks his heat without my permission, an involuntary movement that presses my ass back against?—
