Dammit. She sounded genuinely uncomfortable.
“Do you want us to check out and go somewhere else?” He wanted to stay, wanted to share a bed with her, but his needs weren’t as important as hers. Not even close. “If we drive far enough, I’m sure we can find a place with vacancies. One that’s not running a cryogenics experiment on the side.”
She uncovered her mouth, and he could actually see her teeth chattering. “No. I want you to stop talking, take an uncomfortably scorching shower, and serve as my personal hot water bottle under these covers. Hurry up.”
They were going to cuddle for warmth?
Holy shit. All his fanfic and real-life dreams had come true. This really was the best day ever.
On top of that, she was being undeniably—if understandably—shrewish and demanding, which was yet another dream realized. After all, if she didn’t trust him, she wouldn’t bitch at him. It was an honor, really, and a genuine pleasure to see her entirely unconstrained by politeness.
“Big Harpy Energy,” he said admiringly. “Big. Huge.”
She squinted suspiciously at him. “Is that another Pretty Woman reference?”
It totally was. “I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”
“Oh, for the love of …” She closed those beautiful eyes for a moment. “Just shut up and get hot for me. Please.”
He grinned down at her provokingly.
“You know what I mean,” she muttered. “Just do it, Woodroe.”
He bowed. “Your wish is my etc., etc.”
Rolling his suitcase behind him, he headed for the bathroom, shut the door, and prepared to provide as much body heat as humanly possible. The water in his shower: near-boiling. His imagination: fervid. His dick: in his fist, because if they were cuddling, he was going to get hard unless he’d literally just had an orgasm.
It only took a few strokes. He’d been primed for days and days, and the sight of her in a bed, glaring at him and possibly panty-free, had pushed him to his breaking point.
She’d be so soft under him, around him. Wet and needy. And if she rode him, her weight would hold him firmly in place, no matter how desperately he pleaded and bucked into—
Head thrown back, knees weak, he swallowed down his groan and slapped a hand against the shower wall to brace himself as he came.
“You okay?” he heard her call through the door. “Alex?”
Sometimes, there was such a thing as too innocent, really.
He cleared his throat before calling back, “Fine. Just lost my balance for a moment.”
Scrubbing everywhere only took a couple of minutes, despite his post-orgasm shakiness. Still, he was nearly sweating from the water’s heat by the time he rinsed off. When he emerged from the shower and grabbed a towel, the mirror fogged over and stayed that way.
His suitcase contained very few acceptable clothing options for this momentous occasion. He hadn’t packed pajamas, because he didn’t wear pajamas. A tee and boxer briefs would have to do, because he was not wearing jeans to bed. Not unless she insisted.
The clothing stuck to his damp skin, and he’d much rather be naked, but so be it. Wren’s comfort was worth his discomfort.
One good toothbrushing later, he left the bathroom. From what he could tell, she hadn’t changed position, and her shivering shook the mountain of covers.
“Good news,” she said through all the blankets. “I don’t need to visit that ice hotel in Sweden anymore. Just shine your damn flashlight over the ceiling and call it the aurora borealis, and I’m good to go. Life goal achieved.”
“Seeing the Northern California Lights is truly an experience to be treasured. Congratulations.” Fuck, the room was frigid. “Ready for company?”
She tossed back the blankets and waved him forward impatiently. That was answer enough.
Within three quick strides, he was at the bed. Getting under the covers only took a breath, and then there she was, shaking with cold, lying only an inch away.
If she wanted a personal hot water bottle, he would be one. Gladly.
When he spread his arms, she immediately scrambled into them. Gathering her close, he tucked her head beneath his chin and surrounded her with his body as best he could, and shit, she was soft and plentiful and chilly.
“Put your feet against my legs,” he told her, then bit back a pained gasp when she obeyed. “Hands on my belly or under my arms.”
Apparently she now had icebergs for extremities. Jesus.
Slowly, her hands crept from his cotton-covered back toward his abdomen, and he flipped up the edge of his tee for her. “Skin on skin, Wren. Otherwise, this won’t work.”