I can’t remember when I last held a woman this close. Scratch that, I can remember exactly when that was, but I choose not to. Some memories are best left undisturbed.
Even through her thick coat I can feel the curves of her hips and breasts against me, and a distant part of my mind, the one that isn’t focused on saving her life, realizes how good she feels in my arms.
I open the passenger side door and place her on the seat. Once I’ve fastened the seatbelt over her motionless form, I slam the door shut and run around the car. I grab the holdall still lying by the side of the road before jumping into the driver’s seat. She needs to warm up, fast.
I drive as fast as the weather permits, with the heat cranked up high, only taking my eyes off the road to make sure her chest is still rising and falling.
When the dirt-road through the forest finally opens up to the clearing where my house is, I breathe a silent sigh of relief.
I carry her inside, her bag over my shoulder, and thankfully, my house is warm. Embers are still glowing in the fireplace. I pause, thinking. What’s the best way to warm her up fast?
A memory pierces me. Lying in bed, Sylvia beside me, warming her cold feet on my legs, laughing. Waking up in the morning, her body warm next to mine. Wanting to kick back the blanket because it’s too hot, but staying right there under the covers.
I shake my head. The memories might be painful, but they give me an idea. One that makes heat rise in my cheeks and makes me feel slightly dirty.
I carry her into my bedroom and put her down on the bed to take off her shoes and coat. Underneath, she’s wearing a threadbare sweater and old blue jeans. No wonder she’s freezing cold.
I wonder what led to her being alone out there in the middle of the night. I’ve never seen her in town before, so she can’t be from here. How does a pretty young woman like her end up like that?
I take in a deep breath, steeling myself. I’m going to have to remove her clothes. Blushing, I strip off her clothes until she’s only wearing a bra and panties. I avoid looking at her until a thick blanket covers her body.
I get as many blankets as I can find and pile them on top of her before I take off my clothes until I’m only wearing boxers. Then I climb into bed next to her, feeling like a pervert, and pull her against my body. I shiver when her cold skin touches against mine, but instead of pulling back, I cover as much of her smooth skin with mine as possible.
I vow to myself I won’t fall asleep, that I’ll just stay with her until she’s warm again. She never has to know about this. And I’ll definitely never tell her just how good her body feels against mine.
The first thing I notice when I wake up is how unusually warm my bed is. The second thing I notice is that the heat is coming from the body lying next to me. But Roger and I haven’t shared a bed since—
The memories of last night come rushing back, and my eyes fly open. Sleeping peacefully next to me is the man who almost ran me over last night. The man who saved me.
Why the hell are we sharing a bed? What kind of pervert is he? I’m about to wake him up, my hand already stretched out, when something occurs to me. I nearly froze to death. He needed to get me warm, fast.
Guilt stabs at my insides at having judged him so harshly. Without him, I’d probably be dead.
I study my savior in the bright morning light coming in through the window. It must have stopped snowing in the night, or maybe the early morning.
My gaze wanders over the high cheekbones to the heavy brows, down the straight nose and the pale pink lips that are parted slightly. Light brown stubble frames his face, as if he hasn’t shaved for a few days.
His eyelids flutter, and I flinch, like I’m being caught doing something naughty. He doesn’t wake up, just rolls over onto his other side, mumbling something incomprehensible.
The hottest guy I’ve ever seen shared a bed with me, and it was only so I wouldn’t die. Great.
I feel self-conscious lying next to him, studying him while he sleeps, so I slip out of bed, looking around for my clothes. They’re neatly folded on a chair in a corner and my holdall sits under the chair. Once I’m dressed, I pad out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind me.
I look around, and there’s wood everywhere. The floor is made of wood, so are the walls. It looks like the entire house is made of wood. I follow the hallway into the kitchen and decide to make breakfast. The man saved my life, so the least I can do is make sure he’s properly fed.
I open the fridge, and to my surprise, it’s well stocked. I find bacon and eggs, toast, and even some cherry tomatoes. Once the tomatoes are roasting in the oven and the bacon is sizzling in the pan, I look around for plates and cutlery. When I find them, I allow myself a satisfied smile and turn around to set the table.
My savior is right there, standing in the doorway fully dressed, blocking most of it with his big, burly frame, watching me.
“Good morning,” I say, blushing. Immediately I’m annoyed with myself. Why am I blushing? I did nothing wrong. You’re blushing because a handsome stranger saved your life last night, you shared a bed, and now he’s looking at you like you’re a riddle he wants to figure out, a voice pipes up inside of me. I decide to ignore it.
“Morning,” he finally says, walking toward me. “What are you doing?”