Page 101 of Holiday Romance
“I shared one with Christian,” Andrew says as he positions his suitcase against the wall.
“And Liam doesn’t stay here as well?”
“He lives in the town over. He’ll bring the kids for dinner but won’t stay the night.” He frowns as he presses a hand to the radiator. “I’m going to get a hot water bottle. Mam wasn’t lying, these things take ages to heat up.”
I nod, my mind starting to shut down as he leaves me alone. Chilly air hits me as I take off my coat so I don’t remove anything else but my shoes while I wait for him. I even keep the scarf on as I perch at the end of the bed, stroking a hand down the quilt. I hadn’t thought about what Colleen meant when she said we’d be tight for space. Of course, they can’t just magically drum up an extra bed at such short notice, but it never occurred to me that we’d be sharing one.
The door opens before I can worry too much about it and Andrew slips back inside, clutching a hot water bottle to his chest. He hesitates by the wall, no doubt seeing the warring thoughts on my face. Lord knows I’m too tired to hide them.
“Here,” he says, handing it to me. “I’ll go kick Christian out of bed.”
“Don’t be silly. We’ll fit.”
His eyes flick between me and the mattress. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure I don’t want to be the person who ruins your brother’s Christmas morning? Yes.”
“There’s a couch downstairs I can—”
“Andrew,” I interrupt. “Please take this literally, I want you to sleep with me.”
He laughs, looking relieved. “Okay,” he says, and goes to take off his sweater before thinking the better of it. I understand. It’s not that he doesn’t think I can’t handle him in a T-shirt, but it iscoldin here.
“I’m keeping your scarf on,” I say, and turn to the bed to strip back the blankets. I hear him kick off his shoes and then he closes the curtains before climbing in beside me.
It is predictably, immediately awkward. The three layers of clothing we’re both wearing don’t help. Nor does the fact that we’re both frozen, with only the hot water bottle to keep us warm. I’m about to ask him if he’d prefer to keep said water bottle where it is or put it down by our feet when he huffs out an annoyed breath, and promptly turns on his side, drawing me into him.
“Is this okay?” he asks, arranging us so he’s spooning me. I can only nod as I try to ignore how incredibly comfortable it is and how much I like the warmth of him and the smell of him and the everything of him.
“Should we set an alarm?” I whisper.
“My family is the alarm.”
“But what if—”
“I’ll wake you, Moll. I promise. Try and get some rest.”
I don’t need to be told twice, and as his head sinks into the pillow next to me and his body heat slowly transfers to me, I slip quickly, blissfully, into a deep and dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I may fall asleep with Andrew wrapped around me, but I wake wrapped around him. My arm is tossed over his broad chest, my thigh hooked over his hip and nestled between his legs, pressing against him like I’m unconsciously trying to climb over the man. Or on top of him.
I don’t move away. A little because I just don’t want to. Mostly because I still feel tired. It takes me a few minutes to gain enough awareness to move my limbs and, even when I do, they feel so heavy that I don’t try much more than a halfhearted twitch.
Eventually, I register noises other than the sound of Andrew’s breathing. Murmured voices, a cabinet door slamming. They’re faint, probably from downstairs, but the thought of someone walking in and seeing me like this, a stranger draped over their son or brother, is enough to make me get up.
I do it as gently as I can, trying not to wake him, but Andrew moves as soon as I raise my head, rolling us over so he’s on top of me, pressing me gently into the mattress. At first, I think he’s still asleep and that I’m trapped, but then his breath tickles my ear and I feel the ghost of his smile against my skin.
“Where are you going?” His voice is a quiet rasp that sends goosebumps down my arms and I realize I could get happily used to Andrew in the morning. But there’ll be plenty of time for that.
“To pee,” I grumble, and he laughs, peeling himself off me before turning over onto his side, tugging the blanket up to his chin.
“Two doors down. Put a sock on the doorknob or someone will walk in.”
“What?” I ask, mildly alarmed.
“Christmas with the Fitzpatricks,” he says as if that explains everything. Which it kind of does and also doesn’t. I wait for him to say more, but he already looks as if he’s gone back to sleep and, with my bladder now doing that I’ll-let-out-a-little-tinkle-if-you-don’t-move-soon warning, I slip out of bed, wincing as my bare feet meet the chilly air. I must have kicked off my socks sometime during the night. Or the morning. Or whatever part of the day we’ve just spent unconscious.
