Page 100 of Secret Obsession
Her nails are bloody. I stare at them for a second, then shake it off and snap into survival mode.
Not my survival—hers.
“Stay with me,” I say to her.
There’s frost on her eyelashes, for fuck’s sake. Shoving away the nausea, I get her into my car and blast the heat. Her head lolls, even when I lean over and buckle her seat belt. I take her hands and cup mine around them, blowing warm air on her frozen fingers. They’re white and ice cold.
If she gets frostbite because of me…
I’m glad Knox is keeping everyone away from the hockey house. That way, we can exist in my shame without a fucking audience.
I speed home, the car sweltering hot by the time we get back. She stirs a little, drawing her arms into her stomach.
“Miles?” Her teeth are chattering. “What—”
“I’ve got you.”
“So c-cold,” she whispers.
I know. I know, and it’s my fault.
I slam the car in park and hop out. I lift her and carry her inside, upstairs, into the bathroom. I turn the water on cool, so it’s barely better than how her fingers feel, and I step into it with her.
She gasps. Her head falls against my chest, and she lets out a groan. “It hurts.”
“I know. It’s going to warm you up.”
It’s cold as shit. But it doesn’t dampen the relief that she’s awake and talking.
We stay in the tub, with the water pounding down on her chest, until she reaches out and turns up the heat on her own. Her teeth continue to chatter, and she cradles her hands in her lap.
“You can p-p-put me d-down,” she forces out. “You don’t have t-to stay.”
“I will be staying,” I say firmly. My grip on her tightens. But I do lower us into a sitting position, until my legs are splayed out in front of me.
We’re drenched. The water pools in her lap and runs between her legs, over her stomach. It’s soaked through my shirt and even my hair. Speaking of hair. I run my fingers through hers, meeting ice-cold chunks.
I dunked her head in water and threw her in a freezer.
That might be a new low.
Well, at least I didn’t drug her.
No, no, Miles, focus.
“Let’s get these off,” I murmur, tearing her shirt over her head.
She tries and fails to undo the button of her jeans, so I do it for her. It takes some shifting to get the wet denim down her legs, and then her shoes and socks. I tear my shirt off, too, dropping it on the pile. Her hands are still shaking, but she seems to relax farther into my body now that the barriers between us are gone. I undo her bra and pull that off, too. Not that I have exact scientific reasoning for that.
“I f-feel warmer,” she says.
Pretty sure she’s lying.
Her fingers splay across my abdomen, which automatically tenses under her touch. My dick also gets the message, and I grit my teeth as it stiffens under my jeans.
Fucking worst timing possible.
I shift us forward and turn up the temperature of the water, then recline again. My arms lock around her.
