Thea
I’m still freezing after my shower. The cold seemed to sink into my bones, and I’m shivering while fully covered with the thin quilted comforter. I draw the blanket up around my ears, burrowing in, but another shiver courses through my body.
I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t.
Pierce had no idea what it would come to when he promised me safety.
But my toes… are numb.
I slowly slide my feet through the sheets, across cool fabric and into delectable warmth. It’s like stepping onto hot pavement after a dip in the pool. My feet chase the heat source as feeling slowly slips back into them. It’s too wonderful and I can’t stop. I wriggle my toes beneath his calf.
A scream slices through the darkness, and my warmth is ripped from me. The mattress bounces beneath my curled body and the scream turns into a grumble… then a deep oof of pain. I snake my arm through the cover, patting a warm empty spot on the bed.
Pierce moans, and though it’s pitch-black, I can picture him awkwardly maneuvering his giant body out of the cramped space.
His phone light pierces through the darkness, and he stands, his clothing and hair adorably askew. “What just happened?”
“Someone attacked us. Don’t worry, I saved you,” I say.
He glares at me. Or at least I think he does. It’s hard to tell with the beam directed at my eyes, but I can sense him studying me.
He collapses onto the bed, stretching his long body and letting out a breath. His phone light faces the ceiling, lighting the room with a gentle glow. “You put your feet on me, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why are your toes like icicles?”
“Bad circulation and a tendency to be cold.” I chew on my lower lip.
“You’re so needy.”
“I didn’t hear a no.” I inch my feet closer again.
His lips quirk in a barely detectable smile. “Any other body parts at risk of freezing?”
Well, not my face; it’s currently burning. “Just my little piggies.”
“Do I get anything in return for being your personal space heater?”
My mind momentarily snags on his question. He’s mine. At least for now.
“Aw…” I pinch his cheek. “Little Pierce—”
“Do not call me little.” He swats my hand.
“I can teach you some breathing techniques for stressful moments.”
“Pass. You get five minutes.”
I squeal and worm my feet between his calves. He hisses, his legs jolting, and my whole body relaxes into the warmth. “I’m convinced that at its very core, a good marriage is a combination of one person with cold feet, and another person destined to be tortured forever.”
“How very philosophical of you.”
“Just saying, our fake marriage is defying all the fake odds. My toes have never been so warm.”
“I’m so glad,” he grunts.
I scoot my body a little closer, capitalising on the heat coming from him.
“Just your feet.” He warns, flicking off the light. “I can’t sleep with you in my space.” His voice is low and gruff and sexy as sin.
“I solemnly swear only my feet will touch you.”
***
I jolt awake. I have no idea what time it is since it’s pitch black in the cabin. I do know one thing: I did not keep my hands to myself last night.
I’m on my side, my left leg intertwined with Pierce’s. Not only is my head on his chest, my hand is also underneath his shirt, splayed on his abs like I own them.
How and why did it get there?
I know why—my subconscious is obsessed with those things—but how did my hand get there without my knowledge?
I took advantage of him. In his sleep!
This is bad.
I slowly slide my hand down his smooth, warm skin. It falters every two millimeters, tracing the deep ridges of his abdominal muscles.
“You have an obsession.”
I jump, yanking my hand free of his shirt, and untangle my body from his. “I swear I don’t know how this happened. I was asleep.”
He chuckles, and it seems to shake the bed.
“You were dreaming about me.”
“I was not!” I pick up my unused pillow and hit him with it.
He laughs again and flicks on the light. “You were. I heard you talking.”
I shield my face from the blinding light and my cheeks from embarrassment. “I did not.” That is definitely something I would do, but I didn’t last night. I’m sure.
“You did. And did I mention you snore? And drool?” He wrenches my hands from my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Oh my gosh, stop talking.”
“Look at my shirt.”
Sure enough, a drool spot the size of a quarter is right above his left pec.
Clearly I crossed a line. “Why didn’t you push me off?”
“I did. Many times. You kept coming back. You might have even licked me at one point.”
I’ve officially reached a new low point.
I roll off the bed, suddenly needing to be as far from him as possible. “Well, thanks for powering through for me. I appreciate your sacrifice.”
“There weren’t many other options.”
My spine stiffens. Right. He only helped me because no one else did. He hitched his wagon to mine, and now we are stuck. For better or worse.
“I’m sorry I disrupted your eight hours and thirty-seven minutes of sleep.”
“I actually slept pretty well.” He leans back in the bed, stretching his arms behind his head. His shirt rises, and I catch a glimpse of the abs I’m fascinated with. It’s too early in the day to be faced with this kind of temptation.
“You’re welcome then,” I squeak. I need to get out of here before I drool again. I gather my stuff and shut myself in the bathroom for an unnecessarily long time.
When we finally make it to breakfast, it’s almost eleven, and the buffet is serving burgers instead of pancakes.
I’m not happy about it.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have wasted so much time licking me.” Pierce chuckles, much too pleased with himself.
I dutifully ignore him and his taunting dimple, filling my plate with as many carbs as possible. We find a seat in the empty dining room and dig in.
“You really should try more protein,” Pierce says, lifting a piece of grilled chicken on his fork. “What if you have to run for your life today?”
I finish chewing the roll I slathered in honey butter. “Then you’re not as good a spy as I thought you were.”
His lips twitch, and he raises his cup to cover it.
I take a drink of sugary soda, a challenge in my stare. “I don’t know what I’m paying you for if you can’t keep me from running unnecessarily. In fact, if I even break a sweat, it seems counterintuitive.”
“Speaking of payment…”
My blood slows momentarily. Why did I bring that up?
“Oh, uh…” I straighten in my seat and suddenly find the tiny mole on the lobe of his right ear intriguing.
Of course he would need payment. He’s helping me instead of searching for Mr. Smith, which means he’s probably giving up a paycheck.
“I can totally pay you. It will take a while since I also cover all of my father’s medical expenses, but I promise I will compensate you for everything.
” I rearrange the contents of my plate. A celery stick should not sit by the cinnamon roll.
Honestly, it shouldn’t even be sitting on my plate, but I got self-conscious when I went back for dessert and Pierce went back for more chicken and veggies.
I thought it would even things out. I take a large bite of the celery, faking a grin around my grimace.
Pierce’s lips tug down. “You have to pay your father’s medical expenses? Didn’t he have insurance, retirement, savings?”
I gag down the atrocious veggie. “Those things get used up pretty quickly when paying for a funeral and a year and a half of ongoing medical treatment.” I take a bite of my chocolate chip cookie to erase the celery flavor from my mouth.
“Did you check all his IRAs?”
That shoots a dagger into my heart. My dad had a good job.
A great job, actually. He was a gifted chemist and a proficient budgeter.
Once a year, he, my mom, and I took a fun family trip, usually around a scientific phenomenon like Yellowstone or the bioluminescent bays of Puerto Rico.
I expected him to have a decent savings.
I’d counted on it. When I went to the bank while he was still in the hospital, all I found was twenty-thousand plus some change and my mom’s life insurance.
It was enough to get us through the first year, but the bills didn’t stop coming and things have been tight ever since.
My salary barely covers his multiple appointments each week.
Anything on top of that and we’re sunk. I’ve been looking into other medical insurance options, but so far none will take us on.
I’m lucky and grateful my dad paid off the home we still live in; otherwise, we would be destitute.
“I checked everything,” I say, rolling the celery around my plate and avoiding his scrutiny.
“Several times. I’ve got it figured out.
I live on a strict budget, and as long as I don’t pamper myself with lavish gifts every week”—or ever—“I can make it.” I haven’t bought new work suits since I started my practice three years ago.
My professional shoes are hanging by a thread.
My ‘predictable’ pink polka-dot bikini is from high school.
Pierce’s hand covers mine, which is apparently gripping my steak knife. When did I pick that up? I flash him an awkward smile and drop the utensil.
“You don’t have to pay me. It’s not your fault you’re in danger.”
He's saying it to be nice. Someday I will find a way to pay him, but it helps ease some of the weight that’s been dragging me down the last few days.
Then he surprises me with the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard. “Want to get off the boat today?”