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“Is that right?”

“It’s Santa 101. I might have packed different pyjamas had I known I was going to be sharing a room.”

“As a matter of interest, what would those have looked like? What was the choice?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I’d like to know what I’m missing.”

“Robins,” she said. “You’re missing robins. I bought a set of two.”

He laughed. “So you could wear robins on top and Santa on the bottom?”

“In theory,” she said, “although in practice that would make my brain explode. I like order in my life.”

“I know. That’s why you’re exceptional at your job. Nothing gets missed.”

He shifted and the blanket slid down a little, giving her a flash of skin. Her mouth dried. She wanted to slide her hands under that T-shirt and feel the warmth of his body under her fingers.

She looked away. He was scorching hot. No wonder she always made bad decisions when she was around him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take the bed?” She croaked out the words. “I’m happy to sleep on the window seat. It’s cosy.” Not that she anticipated sleeping much. Not with the wind howling and him sleeping across the room.

“I’m fine. I like watching the storm, and you look pretty comfortable there.”

She wasn’t comfortable, but that had nothing to do with the bed.

“If you’re sure.”

It didn’t really make much difference where he slept. It wasn’t as if she was going to forget he was there.

The space was ridiculously intimate and romantic, with the big bed, soft lighting and warm, fleecy throws. It was the perfect cosy sanctuary as snow swirled in the inky darkness beyond the windows.

Deciding that the best thing was to fall asleep as fast as possible, or at least pretend to, she reached out and flipped off the light.

“I’m exhausted. I’m sure you are, too. Good night.”

There was a pause.

“Good night?” His voice was soft in the darkness. “That’s it?”

“You want me to read to you or sing you a lullaby? I have a voice like a crow.” She snuggled down, tugged the covers up past her chin and tried not to feel guilty that he was on the window seat.

It looked comfortable enough. She didn’t need to feel sorry for him. And she definitely didn’t want to start thinking about how it might feel if he was in this bed with her.

Neither of them needed that complication.

“I don’t want you to sing, and I don’t want you to read me a story—at least, not right at this moment. But I did think we might talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes. Talk. You know, it’s when two people communicate.”

She’d thought darkness would help but if anything it had made the situation more intimate.

“We’ve been talking all day.”

“Not about this.”