"Hey." I move closer, putting my hands on her shoulders. "Breathe. We're fine. It's cold, but we're not going to freeze to death in the next twenty minutes. Tommy will figure it out."
"I know. I just don't like being trapped."
"Then let's stay warm while we wait." I start rubbing her arms, generating friction and heat. "Better?"
Her gaze holds mine, but without its usual armor, and I'm suddenly aware of how close we're standing. The cold air turns her breath to fog between us. Her sweet lips are parted, and the urge to close the distance hits me hard.
"Wyatt." She barely breathes my name, her hands landing on my chest as if she can't decide whether to pull me closer or push me away.
"Yeah?" I step further into her space, gripping her waist.
"Are you using this situation as an excuse to touch me?"
My mouth twists in a smirk. "Maybe." Why deny it? I’ve fantasized about getting in her pants for a solid two weeks now. "Is it working?"
And then, because I can't resist any longer, I capture her mouth. She stiffens, then, a second later, melts into me with a soft moan, her hands fisting in my shirt. Her lips are soft and cold, but they warm quickly as the kiss deepens. She tastes like beer and something intoxicatingly sweet. I only want more.
I press my hips against hers as I grip handfuls of her ass. She gasps into my mouth, and that small sound breaks me. My tongue sweeps against hers, and I moan, letting out every ounce of frustration I've been carrying for twenty years.
Her hands move from my shirt to my hair, fingers threading through and tugging. The groan that rips out of me isembarrassing, but I don't care. I'm already hauling her closer, one arm banding around her waist.
We break apart, both gasping. When she looks up at me, her eyes are huge, her expression soft and stunned.
"Wyatt, we're making out in a cold storage room," she murmurs, her voice dazed.
"It’s the best damned cold storage room I've ever been in." I lean down to kiss her again, but she stops me with a hand on my mouth.
"We're supposed to be working."
I smile against her fingers. "I'm excellent at multitasking."
"Wyatt—"
I cut off whatever reasonable thing she was about to say, my mouth slanting over hers. Her protest lasts half a second before she’s kissing me back with just as much intensity. My hands slide under her shirt, finding warm skin, and she shrieks.
"Your hands are freezing," she says.
"Then warm them up."
She laughs, and the sound is breathless and perfect. We're kissing again, harder now, our bodies pressed flush together. I can feel her heart racing, matching mine beat for beat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know we should probably slow down. We're in a refrigerated room, for god’s sake.
I don't care.
The door suddenly swings open, letting in a blast of warmer air.
"Hey, I think Admiral locked you—oh!" Tommy's voice cuts off abruptly.
Merri and I spring apart like teenagers caught by their parents. She's flushed, her lips swollen, her braid partly undone. I'm pretty sure I don't look any better.
Tommy is grinning so wide I'm worried his face might split. "Well, well, well. Should I close this and come back later?"
"No!" Merri says quickly, her face turning even redder. She shoves me back. "We're fine. We were just?—"
"Making out?" Tommy suggests helpfully.
"Staying warm," I finish, but I'm smiling.
"Right. Staying warm. That’s what we’re calling it." Tommy steps aside as Merri marches past, still grinning. "Feel free to continue your 'warming up' activities."
