Understanding flashes across her features. “So this is personal for your team.”
“Everything’s personal when Phoenix is involved.”
She shifts again, pulling her knees closer to her chest. Her lips show the first hint of blue, and her hands shake slightly as she rubs her arms.
Time for a tactical adjustment.
The temperature down here hovers around fifty degrees. Concrete leaches heat from anything it touches. She’s already shivering slightly, arms wrapped around herself. The jacket I gave her helps, but not enough.
“You’re cold,” I observe.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shivering.”
“It’s fifty degrees in a concrete pipe. Of course I’m shivering. Basic thermodynamics. The human body maintains a core temperature of 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. In an environment this cold, without proper insulation, heat loss occurs through conduction to the concrete, convection in the air, and radiation?—”
“Come here.”
She stops mid-lecture. “What?”
“Body heat. Basic survival.”
“You want me to—cuddle with you? For warmth?”
“Unless you prefer hypothermia.”
She stares at me in the dim light, probably weighing her options. Freeze slowly over six hours or share body heat with a virtual stranger who makes her nervous.
Survival wins.
She scoots closer, tentatively at first. The tunnel’s curveforces her to lean against my side. I shift to accommodate her, creating a pocket of warmth between my body and the wall.
“This is purely for survival,” she says.
“Obviously.”
“I don’t want you getting any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But when she settles against me, her head fitting perfectly against my shoulder, her warmth seeping through my tactical vest, ideas are exactly what I’m getting. Bad ones. Unprofessional ones. The kind that involve finding out what sounds she makes when she’s not talking. What it would take to make her speechless.
Her hair tickles my jaw. That vanilla scent is stronger now, mixed with adrenaline and fear and something uniquely her. Despite everything—the danger, the cold, the concrete—she feels right pressed against me.
Which is fucked up on multiple levels.
“Better?” I ask.
“Warmer,” she admits. Then, because she can’t help herself: “Did you know the phrase ‘body heat’ is actually redundant? All heat is technically body heat in the sense that it’s energy produced by matter, and in thermodynamics?—”
“Dr. Wren.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.” Those green eyes flash with irritation.
“Don’t order me around.”
