Page 142 of Scarlet Wars
He didn’t falter. “Just making sure you’re not turning blue.”
“Uh-huh.” I rolled my eyes at him. “You know, next time you and I go on a mission, we should really check out some more tropical destinations. Between our brilliant plan to retrieve the Amplifier from a frozen cell, moving our asses into Kanata C—which is basically a showroom for snow—and now this, you and I could become rather successful spokespeople for hypothermia.”
Caden didn’t answer. He only stared at me for half a heartbeat, then closed the distance between us in three long strides.
He grabbed my soaked clothes and hung them over the dead fireplace, where ashes from another life still clung to the stone.
“We can’t light a fire unless we want that drone to find us again,” I muttered, rubbing my arms, though the goosebumps prickling along my skin had nothing to do with the chill anymore, and everything to do with the nearness of the most dangerous man I’d ever met.
He turned back to me, eyes blazing with the fire we didn’t dare strike.
“Then we’ll need body heat to warm up,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel dragged over silk. “The floor’s frozen.We’ll use the packs as insulation, press in tight—chest to chest, skin to skin.”
His gaze dropped briefly—scorching over my bare stomach, then back up to my eyes.
“It’s either that, or death. Your call.”
I blinked up at him, as I tried to ignore the unwelcome rush of warmth which had nothing to do with survival.
“Easy, Casanova.” I stepped back and reached for my waterproof backpack, then tossed it open with shaky fingers. “I’d rather start with my emergency kit and not, you know, your ridiculous abs.”
He exhaled through his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and woman under his breath.
I ignored him and dug deeper, finally pulling out a thermos wrapped in plastic.
Caden’s eyes tracked it for a second. “Please tell me that’s Scotch.”
I grinned, peeling the plastic away. “It’s a self-heating thermos. Apparently, when one suffers from hypothermia, warm fluids help counteract the effects. Considering our track record, I thought it rather necessary to bring.”
He blinked once. Twice. Then stared at me, deadpan. “Hot water? You brought along hot water?”
I unscrewed the lid, a faint hiss of steam curling up between us. “Civilized people call it tea,” I confirmed, as a smile tugged at my mouth. “With rum.”
For a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, reluctant amusement breaking through the exhaustion.
I poured a bit into the cap and held it out, but he shook his head, jaw still tight.
“You first, Thompson.”
I snorted, too cold to summon a proper glare. “And people say chivalry is dead.”
Lifting the cup, I took a bold sip and instantly regretted it.
The hot liquid scorched my throat, the rum hitting harder than expected. I choked, coughing half of it back up, my face flaring hot.
Caden was on me in an instant, one hand holding me upright, the other catching the cup before it spilled.
“Easy,” he murmured, sounding dangerously caring. “Let your system adjust to the heat.”
His palm stayed at my back, bare skin to bare skin, hot and grounding. I could feel the rough calluses of his fingers against my spine.
Water still clung to him in thin trails, running down the lines of his chest.
I tried to breathe. Tried not to notice how gorgeous he was, how close he was, how every breath I took pulled in the scent of smoke and blackcurrant andhim.
The cup shook in my hands.
He noticed. His thumb brushed the edge of the mug, steadying it, steadyingme. “Slowly,” he said again, quieter this time.
