“You have an imaginary friend?”
I laugh harder. “No! I’m screwing with you.” I’d like him to screw me. But I’m guessing that Damon is a professional, so any fooling around is firmly off the menu, even if it would help keep us warm. “Why wouldn’t I find talking to you fun?”
“I’m known for being serious.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shrugs.
“Serious is sexy.” I said that out loud, didn’t I? Oh well, I can’t take it back, and I’ve already told him the cold has turned my brain-to-mouth filter off.
He widens his eyes.
“Plus, you’ve had a lot dumped on your plate the last couple of days. You’re allowed to be a little surly.” I speak in a breezy tone, as if my previous statement wasn’t important, even though I meant it. His brand of seriousissexy.
“And now we’re stuck here.”
“Yeah, but look on the bright side: you didn’t want to go to the ball anyway, and you’ve got me for company.” I grin and then shiver as the cold seeps into my bones again.
He pushes the blanket aside and takes off his jumper.
“What are you doing?”
He passes me the jumper. “Wear it.” It’s a command, not a suggestion.
This time, I shiver for all the right reasons. “I can’t. It’s yours.”
He narrows his eyes. “Wear it.”
I take the jumper and put it on, wishing he’d added ‘boy’ to the end of the sentence. It would have been the chef’s kiss on top of his authoritative tone. “Thank you.” I bite my tongue so ‘Daddy’ doesn’t accidentally slip out. Although, would it be a bad thing? Really? He must know I’m attracted to him by now.
The jumper helps a lot. It’s warm, snuggly, and smells of the slightly spicy aftershave Damon uses. And, because he’s bigger than me, it has baggy ‘boyfriend jumper’ vibes. I pull the sleeves over my hands to help keep them warm, even though what I really want to do is warm them up on his body.
“You’re good company,” he says in a softer voice.
Heat rises to my cheeks. How red has my face gone? Is the shade clashing with my hair?
“For what it’s worth, I’d much rather be stuck in a car with you than your brother.” Why did I say that?
He smiles, which is a rare but beautiful sight. “He’s less grumpy than I am.”
“Maybe, but he’s not you.” I suck in a breath. I might as well have held up a neon sign screaming ‘I fancy you’.
His pupils shrink, and he parts his lips a fraction.
I pull the blanket higher, so it’s covering the bottom half of my face.
“Are you still cold?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I could do more to keep you warm.”
You can. You could hold me, then we could share our body heat.
“It’s not your fault we’re stuck here,” I say.
“It’s not yours, either.”
