Page 45 of Hunted

The window was closed. The rope ladder, rolled up and lying neatly beneath it.

That was … bizarre.

He lowered Lexi onto the bed, and pressed his head against her breast to listen. Her heart was beating more slowly than before. Maybe it was back to normal. Maybe she was going to be okay.

She might not stay that way long if he didn’t act fast. The hearth in the corner seemed to whisper an answer to him. Kindling laid ready, just as it had when they’d left the house. A stack of wood stood neatly to one side. It only took a second to find the matches on the mantel and light the fire in the fireplace. So he did that, then closed the bedroom door, to keep the heat inside, but just before it closed all the way, the cat rocketed through, leaped onto the bed and bunted Lexi’s face with his head.

Romano returned to the bed. Her clothes were wet, frozen. So were his. He needed to warm her, and he needed to do it fast. He quickly stripped to his shorts. Then kneeling on the bed, he took off the coat, then the sweatshirt she wore beneath it. She didn’t move as he worked, didn’t make a sound, just lay there limp. Lifeless. His throat tried to close off, and his eyes burned inexplicably.

The zipper of her jeans was caked with snow and ice, but he finally managed to undo them. He knelt beside the bed, wrenching the snow-coated shoes from her feet, peeling the socks and then the jeans away. Her skin was cold, clammy to the touch. He hoped to God he’d found her in time. He had to pick her up again to tug back the covers, and then he tucked her beneath them. He wanted to crawl in with her, hold her and rock her and speak to her until he drew some kind of response. But not yet. He quickly searched the room, taking every blanket he found and spreading them over her.

Still shirtless, he ran into the adjoining bathroom, the room where he’d sat on that tiny vanity stool while she’d tended his bleeding shoulder. He snatched several thick towels from the shelf and returned to the fire. He added more logs and then held two of the towels as close to the flames as he dared, warming them. When they were heated through, he went to the foot of the bed, lifted the covers and wrapped a towel around each of her icy feet. He repeated the process with two more towels, wrapping her hands this time.

Then finally, he got beneath the covers with Lexi. She was so cold after the heat of the fire that he flinched and sucked air through his teeth as he pulled her chilled body into his arms and held her tight against his own warm skin. The cat meowed his irritation at having his position disrupted, but settled down again on Lexi’s other side, purring loudly.

Gently Romano cradled her, willing his body’s heat to move into hers, to warm her, to bring her back.

“Come on, Lexi,” he whispered, the harsh desperation in his voice making it sound like someone else’s. “Come on, wake up. You’re gonna be okay. Do you hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”

God, if only he could be sure of that.

She was warm again.

It was the first sensation to filter into her awareness. She was warm, deliriously warm and wrapped in a wonderful contrast of hardness and softness. She inhaled nasally, and her eyes opened at the familiar, subtle scent.

Romano.

He was behind her and beneath her and surrounding her. His body enveloped hers in its warmth. She closed her eyes, wondering if this was a dream or some fantasy-based afterlife. Oh, but it felt good, whatever it was. His arms, holding her, warming her, his chest, pressed to her back, his thigh, resting atop her legs, his breath warm on her nape.

She sighed deeply, hoping to stay just like this for several more hours.

He was naked. And … and so was she. No, she realized. Not quite naked. She wore her bra and panties. He wore his boxers.

Lexi came more thoroughly awake. Had something happened between them? Had they slept together and had she somehow managed to forget?

The last thing she remembered was clinging to a pine tree’s rough trunk, shivering with cold and teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.

Romano must have found her. He must have found her and brought her … She blinked at the windows with their serene blue drapes and rope tiebacks. She sniffed the air, smelling wood smoke and man. She felt the deep rumbling purr of her cat, and his weight, familiar on her pillow.

He’d brought her home. She was in her own bed. And she was all right. She was warm and dry and safe.

Romano had saved her life tonight.

She rolled onto her back, better to see him in the dim predawn light beaming through the windows. He stirred. His eyes opened slow, blinked a couple times, then darted rapidly over her face.

“Lexi …?”

“I’m okay.”

His eyes continued their search, filled with relief. One hand came up from under the covers, to cup her cheek, run through her hair, trace the curve of her neck, as his head moved very slightly from side to side.

“I’m okay,” she repeated, knowing he wasn’t as sure of it as she was.

He closed his eyes, pulling her closer to him, hugging her tight. “Thank God,” he said. “I was afraid …”

He stopped then. His hands had been sliding down over her back to pull her closer, and they’d paused on her buttocks. His hips were pressed to hers, and she felt the unmistakable swelling of him against her. She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes, knowing he was going to draw away from her at any second, just by the hint of panic she saw in those midnight blue depths.

But she saw desire, too. And she didn’t want him to pull away.

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