“I know.” He rearranged the blanket into a tent for her breath. “Just breathe, now. You’re going to be warm again soon.”
She inhaled dense, male-scented heat.In. Out.Repeat.Her breath calmed her inner chatter. One thing, however, she could not deny. Everyone told her she was strong, but right now, all signs pointed toward the opposite.
She was weak.
Weak.
Not just physically, either.
Rayne had used and humiliated her. Rayne had put an ocean between them. He couldn’t have been clearer about his lack of interest. Still, she’d tended her fascination for him the way he was tending the fire in the grate.
Even now, after he’d admitted to having a mistress, she remained affected.
Her stomach threatened to heave. She could hardly control herself, let alone the situation. She closed her eyes.
“No sleep,” he barked.
Her burning skin left no oxygen for anger to flare. How could she burn when she felt so cold?
She tilted her head to the side and scowled. “Tyrant.”
“Were I gentle and cajoling, would you listen?”
“Yes.” Easy enough to concede. Rayne? Gentle?Never. “You don’t know how to be gentle, so I need not be acquiescent.”
“Your teeth have stopped chattering, at least.” He exhaled, weary. “And I’m being gentle now.”
Shehmphed.
“I literally gave you my shirt.” He stroked her cheek with warm fingers. “And this is the thanks you give?”
“Not gentle.”
“Didn’t I feed you?”
She turned her face into his shoulder.
“Didn’t I rescue—”
She scowled. “I had those boys in hand.”
“Of course you did.” He rested his palm against the base of her throat.
His hand practically spanned her shoulders.
So hot. So nice.
She forced her fluttering lids to open. “I would have won.”
He snorted. “I’ll admit this much—Jack was right. You have an excellent right cut.”
“I know. Ask Markham.”
“Markham taught you to fight?” He made a disapproving sound.
“For a libertine,” she said, “you don’t know much about women.”
He growled beneath his breath. “Women, yes. Reckless hoydens, on the other hand…”
