“That’s better,” he says. His fingers skim down my arms, coming to rest on my wrists. “But now you’re shivering. Where’s your bedroom?”
Reality hits me, hard. I jerk away, painfully aware of the loss of his touch. “I appreciate you comin’ to my rescue, but I don’t know you at all. You ain’t goin’ anywhere near my bedroom.”
Nash straightens his shoulders and stares me down. “You’re about two seconds away from hypothermia, Raelynn. I wasn’t trying to get you into bed. Just into some dry clothes.”
Oh.
“I can dress myself.” The retort dies on my lips when I get to my feet. Dark spots float in front of my eyes. “Shit.”
For the third—fourth?—time tonight, he’s at my side, steadying me when I sway. Thank the stars it’s just with a hand to my waist. I’ve had about enough coddling.
So why do I lean closer?
“Stood up too fast. Shoulda’ known better. I’m all right.”
“This is why I asked where your bedroom was,” he mutters with a little shake of his head. “You had a panic attack. One of the worst I’ve seen in a long time. Clearly, you don’t want me here, but I’m not leaving while your lips are still blue.”
I touch my fingers to my mouth and sigh. “Fine. Light a fire, will ya’? My heater’s on the fritz.”
The idea of this man alone in my living room should be about as welcome as an outhouse breeze, yet as I head for the stairs, I’m relieved he’s here. Rain pelts the windows, though the thunder is no more than a dull rumble in the distance now. I pause, looking back at him.
Nash runs his hands over the painted bricks like he’s caressing his lover, before plucking the book of matches from the mantle.
Damn. I want to be masonry right now.
He starts to whistle as he stacks wood in the hearth, and I trudge upstairs. When I’m alone, I strip off my jacket, sports bra, and leggings. My bed beckons, begging me to crawl under the covers and sleep for a week. But I hear Nash moving around, and the comforting scent of wood smoke wafts up from the living room.
For years, I told myself I hated being touched. But maybe…I only wanted to hate it. Because I miss Nash’s arms around me.
Dammit. In the space of ten minutes, he’s shattered my entire belief system.
And I have no idea how I feel about that.
Chapter Four
Nash
The logs crackle in the hearth, dispelling a fraction of the chill in the room. Raelynn’s footsteps make the old wood floors creak above me. It was pure, dumb luck I found myself on Industrial Way tonight. The same luck that let me catch her during yesterday’s Krav Maga class.
Frank’s words echo in my ears.
“You’re the luckiest kid I’ve ever met.”
I was. Once. Even if I didn’t believe it at the time. I can still feel the blood running into my eyes. And hear Mae’s whimper before two quiet pops silenced her forever.
I tug at my sweatshirt. The wet fleece sticks to my chest. Even standing in front of the fire, I’m starting to shiver. Is it only the cold? Or my memories too?
I should have grabbed my jacket before getting out of the car, but Raelynn looked so unsteady on the side of the road leaning on her mangled bike. I didn’t know who she was when I pulled over, but no one deserves to be stranded and alone in the middle of a storm.
Water drips from my hair, sliding down the back of my neck. As soon as I know she’s okay, I’ll leave. The thunder has faded, though rain still pelts the windows in wind-driven waves.
I want to ask her what caused the panic attack. Texas storms are much worse than anything Seattle has to offer. Hell, when Frank and I lived here a decade ago, I can’t remember even one thunderstorm. And we had an apartment in Renton for almost two years.
She comes down the stairs almost silently. Only a single whining step gives her away. Some of the color has returned to her cheeks, and her lips are a healthy shade of pink again. Like yesterday.
The bulky green sweater dwarfs her slim frame, but it turns her eyes a darker blue. Thick socks, fleece pants. Good. She should be fine now.
“I…uh…” Raelynn holds out a heavy flannel shirt. “This should fit you.”
