Chapter Four #3
She looked truly miserable; her entire body was shaking. “But I am freezing,” she insisted. “If it will only make me warm, I will gladly scorch my hands.”
He instinctively reached out to grasp her fingers, feeling that they were indeed icy. “I do not believe you would be happy with the long-term results of that,” he said, enfolding both of her hands in great warm palms. “Allowing a Sassenach to warm your hands is probably the lesser of the evils.”
The moment he grasped her fingers, she tried to snatch them away.
That lasted about a half a second. When she realized that his hands were indeed quite warm, she forgot about her hatred, fear, pride, or anything else that might have fed her resistance and gave in to his grasp completely.
In fact, she buried both of her hands in his heated palms.
“Ye’re like a roaring blaze,” she closed her eyes as his heat began to draw the cold from her fingers, causing a prickling feeling. “How is it ye’re not freezing like I am?”
He was fully aware that they were much closer, for propriety’s sake, than they should be. “A body this size gives off a great deal of heat,” he replied evenly. “You do not have much flesh on your bones to warm you as I do.”
She lifted a dark eyebrow at him. “I am not scrawny if that’s what ye mean.”
He pursed his lips at her. “Do you always assume I am inferring something negative about you? I simply meant that I am a good deal bigger than you are and, consequently, I give off more heat than you do.”
She eyed him, realizing that he was probably right.
She did assume everything he said was an insult to her, yet he had never truly outright insulted her.
She backed down. “My apologies, then,” she said, feeling her hands spring back to life within his warm grip.
“I wouldna want to insult the only Sassenach that has come to my aid.”
But the silence that fell after that was uncomfortable, as she could sense his gaze upon her but did not know what to say.
Her cheeks were growing warm, though she had no idea why.
When her heart started its funny little jig again, she silently pulled her hands from his grasp and reclaimed her tartan about her.
The cloak, however, was not as easy to manage and she struggled with it, trying to wrap it around the tartan.
It was dusty and dirt flew up in her face, making her sneeze.
Suddenly, the cloak took on a life of its own and wrapped itself tightly around her.
More than that, there were arms holding the cloak firm; powerful, enormous arms. It took Carington a moment to realize that Creed had bound her up in the cloak and proceeded to pull her into his massive embrace. She stiffened in shock.
“What are ye doing?” she gasped.
“Being practical,” he said, shifting her board-stiff body into a comfortable position so her pointy elbows were not jabbing him in the gut. “You are cold; I am warm. Since the vizier is not doing its job of heating you adequately, I am offering my services. Would you rather freeze to death?”
She was still mortified, stunned, but the moment she felt his heat against her arms and back she could feel herself relenting.
She could feel his warmth through the material, and it was evil and comforting at the same time.
She should be punching him in the nose for his forwardness. But she could not muster the will.
“Of course I wouldna,” she tried to sound outraged but did not do a very good job. “But ye… like this. And me like this. It isna proper!”
“Proper or not, it is nonetheless warm. Are you going to argue with me all night or do you intend to accept it, shut up, and go to sleep?”
She twisted her neck back to look at him; his face was hovering over her left shoulder, his dusky blue eyes holding nothing lascivious or indecent.
In fact, he looked rather neutral about the whole thing and for some reason, she was disappointed.
Nay, not disappointed, but certainly she had thought he would treat her more than just a bit of furniture.
He might as well have been holding a chair for all of the warmth she saw in his eyes. What had she expected?
Frustrated at her foolish thoughts, she struggled to remain neutral as well. “I willna refuse ye if ye are so determined to help me,” she mumbled, turning around so she would not have to look at him. “I will sleep now.”
Creed did not reply. With her gathered in his arms, he lay on his left side and took her with him.
She was still stiff as he shifted her around to find a comfortable position, but gradually, she began to relax.
The initial awkward moments were fading as comfort set in.
She settled back against him, wriggling her bum in an effort to get closer to his heat, and he had to close his eyes against the sweetness of it.
He had seen the shape of that particular part of her body and it was round and perfect.
Now it was brushing against his groin, although there were several layers of fabric in between them.
He had to close his eyes, focus on something else, or all would be lost.
He did not know what possessed him to wrap himself around her in the first place, only that she was so cold that her face was pale and her nose was red.
He gave off heat like a bonfire. His instincts took over, whether chivalrous instincts or just plain male instincts, he did not know.
But now that he had her in his arms, he was sorely regretting it and sorely pleased with it all at the same time.
She sighed in his embrace, a sound of utter contentment.
He could feel her body relax and her breathing grow even.
Creed lay there with his eyes wide open, staring into the darkness, totally unable to rest. He was taut with the sensations he was experiencing.
He knew she was asleep when she rolled back towards him, wedging herself even more intimately against his body.
She was half on her back, half on her left side, the side of her head up against his chin.
The black hair licked at him and he could smell the very faint scent of Elder flower in his nostrils.
Christ, if she was not a sweet little thing.
Slowly, he rubbed his stubbled cheek against the black head, just once, feeling the silken strands against his skin.
It had been so long since he had felt anything even remotely feminine that he was almost giddy with it.
But he dare not do more. He should not have even done that.
As the night progressed, he could feel himself gradually relaxing.
It was hard not to find comfort with her soft little body against him.
He was not aware when he finally drifted off to sleep, but when he awoke a few hours later, his first realization was that Carington was now facing him, pressed up against him as far as she could go, and his arms were wrapped tightly around her.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he wondered if he had not unknowingly orchestrated the death-embrace they seemed to be positioned in.
His logical mind was thinking one thing but his body was apparently thinking another.
She was warm, soft and wonderful, and his male impulse, even in sleep, had acted naturally.
Her face was in his neck, her hot breath against his skin.
Hating himself, allowing a stolen moment to enjoy the sensation, he tightened his grip and drifted back off to sleep again.
Carington awoke at dawn to find herself quite alone by the cold vizier.