Then he squeezes my hand and pushes the back door open, holding it for me. Cold air immediately wallops me in the face.
“Ooof, you weren’t kidding.” I shiver and hug my damp coat to my chest.
“That’s not warm enough for you.” He quickly shrugs out of his heavy flannel shirt and drapes it over my shoulders, leaving him in a long-sleeve T-shirt that fits him like a sexy second skin.
“What about you? Now you’ll be cold.”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I can always run upstairs and grab something else.” He bites his lip and frowns. “I should give you a ride to?—”
“I’m fine,” I assure him and shove my arms into the flannel. Over the sweatshirt, it’s bulky.
He helps me button it up to my chin.
“I’m going to look like a sentient marshmallow waddling around out there,” I joke, holding my arms out and swaying from side to side.
He leans in, brushing his lips against my ear. “A sexy marshmallow I’d like to eat later.”
Instant heat fans over every inch of my skin. “You…you are very talented atthat,” I answer with zero chill.
“I don’t feel like I did my best work in the shower. I need a do-over.”
“You were excellent.” I clear my throat and flash a more confident smile. “But I won’t say no to a do-over.”
“Looking forward to it.” He kisses my cheek. “I don’t want to let you go but I have a session I need to get ready for.”
“I’d love to see pictures later.”
He nods, brushing a knuckle down my jaw in a way that should be illegal before nine in the morning. “I’ll text you when I’m done. But you can come into the shop anytime you want. Lucy will be here later.”
“Okay.”
More heat creeps up my cheeks. I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself by asking him to lock me in his room like some sort of Victorian attic bride.
He opens the back door again, letting another blast of cold air wash over us. I suck in a sharp breath and brace myself. Declan frowns like the weather personally offends him.
“Text me when you get to the inn,” he says. “Just so I know you made it.”
I’m not used to checking in with anyone else but Wren. But I don’t hate the idea. “I will.”
“Let me know what you get for breakfast,” he says. “Reassure me that you had something more substantial than cake.”
“Best cake I’ve ever had.”
He huffs out a short laugh—why do I love that sound so much—and opens the door wider.
I step outside and the cold slaps me awake, scrambling my thoughts just enough that I don’t turn back and climb him like a tree.
“Em,” he calls.
I look over my shoulder.
His gaze tracks down my borrowed layers, lingering on my face. “You look good like that,” he says, voice lower than before. “In my clothes.”
The words hit me like a spark dropped on dry tinder.
Gathering all my confidence and sass, I lower my lashes. “They’re going to look even better on your floor later.”
He bites his bottom lip like he’s picturing me naked right now. “Looking forward to it.”
