Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Lake
She spins around, mouth dropping open. “Wh-what?”
I went from feeling generous and a little bit soft about this woman who’d clearly had a shit twenty-four hours to being annoyed.
In a second.
Or maybe defensive because I’m a dumb fuck who was feeling soft about a woman I didn’t know—and had been about to offer to sleep on the floor in another room while she took my bed. But then she’d gone ahead and proved she’s a woman who’s exactly like the other women in my life, present and past.
So, I’m a dumbass for that blip in the space-time continuum, for that moment of soft.
Now, I’m moving on.
Soft is gone. Asshole is back.
She’s going to hate me.
The thought is crystal clear and piercing through my brain.
Whatever.
It doesn’t matter if she likes me—or if her little dog does too.
In fact, it’s better if they both despise me.
Which is why I double down. “You can either share”—I wave an arm at the bed, an eastern king because I’d bought absolutely the biggest mattress I could get my hands on—“or you can find another flat surface in this house to sleep on.”
“I wasn’t trying to take your bed,” she says quietly.
I lift one shoulder, drop it. “Sure seems like it.”
She glowers at me. “I just thought you were going to offer and it’s—” Her teeth clamp together before she shakes her head and huffs out a breath. “Never mind.” A sigh, chin lifting. “Am I allowed to take one of those pillows and maybe a blanket?”
Asshole, that’s me.
I nod tersely, and she moves toward the top of the bed, taking one of the pillows—taking my pillow, as in the only one I’ve slept on to date, as in my expensive as shit pillow that I bring on road trips and don’t let anyone use. “Not that one,” I say before I can stop myself.
She turns, and if looks can kill, I would be dead before my big body hits the floor.
Then she sighs again, extending her hand toward the other pillow. “Is this one acceptable?”
I nod.
She slowly grabs it, eyes on me, as though waiting for me to protest again. When I don’t, she moves to the foot of the bed, places her hand on a blanket, lifts her brows at me. I keep my mouth shut, and she picks it up. “Come on, Steve,” she says softly.
I expect the tiny demon to ignore her, and though he makes a soft sound of protest, he still gets to his feet, jumps down, and follows her out of the room.
I watch her go, stare at the open door for long minutes, expecting her to come back in.
To make a pass.
To throw a fit.
But she doesn’t.
And eventually, the cold seeps in and I creep into the hall.
No sneak attack by a hysterical woman.
No sight of the woman at all.
Until I make it into the family room and spy a pile of blankets and clothes and towels in front of the fireplace.
Which has a pathetically small fire inside it.
Christ.
It’s like she got it started with the three logs that were in the basket next to the fireplace itself when I have a full rack of firewood on the side of the house—only she wouldn’t know that, would she?
She probably figured that’s all the firewood I have and—
My eyes catch on the basket, see there’s still a piece of wood remaining.
She didn’t use all of it.
She saved one piece.
“Christ,” I mutter. This woman is going to be the death of herself.
Sighing, I move quietly past her—and the mutt who slits open his eyes and growls softly at me—carefully shoving my feet into my boots and opening the front door.
I slip out into the storm, walk to the rack, fill my arms with wood, and bring the logs back over to the fireplace.
She’s either an Oscar-worthy actress, or her shitty day has tired her out because she doesn’t move as I unload the wood, which isn’t a quiet task even though I’m trying to make it one. I pile on some logs, wait for the flames to catch, then stack the rest in the basket.
But as I turn back for the bedroom, I see that she’s shivering.
“Fucking hell,” I say, grinding my teeth together as I go back down the hall and grab a few more blankets, grab my expensive ass pillow.
I carry them out and drop them to the floor next to her, debating.
Then because I’m fucking tired and I’ve carried them this far.
I shake one out, tuck it around her, trying to cushion her from the cold, hard floor.
I spread another over the top of her, and then one more, the heat of the flames already starting to warm the space.
Since she’s already rolled off the pillow, I prop my good one beneath her, ignoring Steve’s warning growl, then start to head back to the bedroom.
But, growl or not, my gaze goes back to the tiny demon dog, and I see he’s burrowed closer to Nova, as though seeking out her warmth.
I stop, head dropping back, eyes on the ceiling, shoulders heaving with a sigh. “You are a fucking idiot, Lake Jordan.”
But, idiot or not, I stride back down the hall, rip my spare blanket from the foot of my bed and I carry it back to the family room.
And I spread it out over the demon pup.
Who sighs and closes his eyes.
I am a fucking idiot.
I still stop and shift the grate, settle one more log on top of the growing flames, then make sure the metal mesh is secure so no dangerous sparks will escape before heading back down the hall.
Into my bedroom.
Closing the door softly behind me.
Then opening it an inch, just in case I need to hear—
“Dumb,” I mutter and close it.
But I leave the handle unlocked.
And only then do I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth, do my business.
I crawl into bed, pull the blankets up.
Sleep is a long time coming.