Chapter 6
CHRISTIAN
“Wait,” he said, standing so quickly his chair screeched against the tile floor.
Merry paused, one hand still on the back of her chair, her brows lifted in surprise.
He almost lost his nerve. The soft, wide-eyed look she gave him did something to his chest.
“I just . . .” He glanced down, searching for something that would make sense, something that wouldn’t sound like he was desperate to keep her there. Even if he kind of was. “You look cold. Your coat isn’t warm enough.”
Her mouth opened. Then closed. She glanced down at her duffle like she’d only just remembered it was still soaked through. And her jeans looked frozen stiff with the damp cold. He didn’t know how she’d even made it to the café like that, let alone how she was planning to get home.
“You’ll freeze,” he added, more quietly now.
She looked up again, eyes locking on his with a wicked little glint. “You just said I was hot,” she teased.
Christian blinked. Then he barked out a laugh, one hand going to his chest like she’d actually hit him there.
“God, you’re trouble,” he said, shaking his head and pulling his lumberjack coat from the back of his chair. “Here, wear it. I insist.”
She slid her arms into the sleeves and the coat swallowed her whole, hanging off her frame like a blanket with legs.
“I look ridiculous,” she murmured, tugging the sleeves over her hands.
“You look warm,” he said. “And kind of like a Christmas burrito.”
That earned a soft laugh, which made every bit of him light up. Her cheeks were pink again, this time from heat and not from frostbite, and she tilted her head at him like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.
“You heading home?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go get the train.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he said. “I’m not letting you get sleet-stabbed on my watch.”
She raised a brow. “Sleet-stabbed?”
“It’s a thing,” he said. “It’s when the wind turns against you and starts hurling frozen knives at your face. Happens a lot here.”
“That sounds . . . charming. And you’re going to protect me from that how, exactly?”
“Using my body.” He pulled open the café door.
They stepped out into the night and the air hit him like a slap. Sharp and damp and mean. Merry shivered beside him, curling tightly into his coat.
“Okay, you win,” she said. “I would have died in just my duffle.”
It was only a short walk to the station, but it felt like they were hiking across Antarctica. Christian watched as Merry pulled his jacket closely around her. He shivered violently now that he was outside in this weather wearing nothing but a sweater. A very wet, very clingy sweater.
More than once he caught Merry glancing over at him, her eyes falling on the way his sweater was shrink-wrapped around his body.
“You’re going to freeze,” she said.
“I haven’t got far to go,” he replied casually, like the icy wind wasn’t slicing straight through him. He didn’t add that ‘not far’ meant a suite at the Plaza on Fifth Avenue. He couldn’t tell her that without giving away more than one secret.
Still, she was biting her lip now, staring at the way his soaked top clung to his skin, and he didn’t miss the heat in her gaze.
A block ahead, she pointed suddenly. “Come on.”
Christian followed her into a narrow discount menswear store, the bell above the door jingling wildly. Warmth enveloped them, thick and dry and filled with the scent of new fabric and leather.
Merry shook the rain out of her hair, scanning the displays. “You need something warmer to wear, stat.”
“I’m fine,” he said, voice rough.
She ignored him, grabbing a rack of thick, plain zip-up sweaters near the register and holding up a green one to his chest. Her fingers brushed against him and Christian felt desire ripple under his skin.
He froze, breath caught in his throat as her knuckles grazed the wet fabric clinging to his body.
His thin jumper was plastered to him, rain-slicked and sort of translucent, doing nothing to hide the fact that he was more than a little built.
She looked up at him then, meeting his gaze, and there was something in her eyes that turned his blood to heat.
“I’ll try it,” he said, his voice coming out hoarser than he’d intended. He reached for the sweater, and when their hands met again it was like his whole body keyed up.
He hadn’t been touched in months. He’d been too busy working, too lost in the rhythm of building and fixing and helping others. The connection, that slow, crackling voltage, had sneaked up on him. And now that it was here, he didn’t want to let go.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, already backing towards the changing room as she watched him go.
He stepped into the cramped cubicle and closed the curtain, the overhead light buzzing faintly above him.
His jumper was drenched and stuck to his skin.
He peeled it off slowly so as not to damage the zip-up, shivering slightly at the sudden temperature shift.
The mirror in front of him was a bit too close for his liking, but he wasn’t mad at what he saw.
Water glistened on his skin, his abs contracting instinctively as he pulled the sweater over his arms. But he didn’t move to zip it up yet.
He stood there, bare-chested, water still trickling down his pecs, trying to breathe through the heat that was pooling low in his stomach. All because a woman had touched him through his clothes and looked at him like she wouldn’t mind doing it again. It was ridiculous.
“Get a grip, Christian,” he whispered at himself.
The curtain whipped aside.
“Sorry, what did you—” Merry froze, words dying in her throat as her eyes landed squarely on his bare chest.
Christian stood rooted to the spot, his abs on full display through the unzipped sweater, rain still tracing lazy paths down his torso. For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled.
Her gaze dragged down his chest, stalled somewhere around his stomach, then snapped back up like she’d just remembered he had a face that she was supposed to be looking at.
“Oops,” she said, voice a little too high. “I thought you were talking to me. Sorry. Kind of.”
“I wasn’t.” Heat crept up his neck. “But, uh, I’m not mad about the misunderstanding.”
“Neither am I,” she murmured, still staring, not even bothering to hide it now. “Jeez, Louise.”
Christian let out a soft laugh that hummed low in his chest. “Enjoying the view?”
Her gaze snapped back up again. This time she looked mortified.
“I . . . no . . . I mean, yes . . . but not . . . Oh my God, I’m going to turn around now.”
“You don’t have to,” he said, grinning, finally zipping the sweater the rest of the way. “I’m decent now.”
Merry turned away anyway, pressing a hand to her flaming cheek as she muttered, “I’m never going to recover from this. Please don’t tell your fiancée about this. I’d hate for them to get the wrong idea.”
The grin that spread across Christian’s face could’ve lit up the entire city block.
“Oh, I don’t actually have a fiancée. I only said that to get Dragon Lady off your back.
” He pulled the tag from the jumper and stepped out of the cubicle, standing beside her like nothing had happened, even though the space between them felt electric.
“Better?” she asked, letting a slow grin spread across her face and whipping the tag from his hands. “My treat.”
“It’s fine,” he replied. “Honestly.”
“There’s no way I’m going to let you freeze to death because I stole your jacket,” she said, pulling out her purse.
“I’ll get it,” he said, but she waved him away, handing the money to the cashier.
“It’s my fault you’re soaked through,” she said. “Do you want a jacket too?”
“I’m good.” He opened the door to the elements. “Thanks for the present. It feels like Christmas already.”
“If all Santa brings you is a twelve-dollar sweater, then I feel sorry for you,” she said. “Right, my stop is just down there.”
She pointed towards the glowing entrance of the subway station, the light catching in her damp hair as she pulled Christian’s coat more tightly around herself.
“Thanks again,” she added, lifting a hand in farewell. “For the company. And, you know, for not letting me freeze to death.”
Before he could say anything else, she turned and jogged down the steps into the station, her shoes splashing through the puddles.
Christian stood there a second too long, the door half- open behind him, cold wind slicing in until the cashier shouted at him to get the hell out and shut the door behind him.
He stepped outside, tucking his hands into the pockets of his new sweater, and started walking north up Fifth Avenue.
The streets shimmered with rain and twinkling reflections, taxis crawling by in ribbons of yellow.
He barely noticed the rain anymore, lost in his thoughts about the drink he’d just had and the girl he’d got to know.
He reached his hotel and stepped through the revolving doors, the doorman nodding politely.
Inside the elevator, he caught his reflection in the gold trim.
The green sweater clung to his shoulders.
He pressed the button for the top floor and leaned against the back wall, his thoughts far from the luxury suite waiting upstairs.
He’d almost told her what he was doing back in New York. The words had been there, perched on the edge of his tongue. But it was too risky, because he didn’t really know her well enough yet. He wanted to know more.
He wanted to know what kind of music she listened to when she was alone.
Whether she hated mornings or was the type to bounce out of bed with the sunrise.
What made her eyes do that sparkly thing they’d done in the changing room.
If he could make her laugh like that again, but on purpose this time — that wouldn’t be a chore.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open.
Christian stepped out into the plush hallway and made his way to his room.
He unlocked the door, stepped inside and let it close behind him with a soft click.
Then he pulled off the sweater, held it in his hands for a long moment and hung it carefully over the back of a chair.
Just in case he needed it again tomorrow.