Page 14 of Married to Her Yeti
But once clothed, Nima leaned in, sliding his large, azure hand to her hip. Her heart thundered as his aqua-blue gaze bore into her, his oversized canines looking both ominous and sexy as he loomed above her. Her suddenly quick breaths came even quicker.
“I didn’t peek,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “But I’ve already judged.” His fingers squeezed, gripping her in a delightful, possessive way. “When you pressed your backside into me earlier tonight, you felt how hard I got for you. That’s how much I like the changes to your body.”
His gaze slid to her ear, and he slowly traced her piercings with the pad of his thumb. “And these are fucking sexy, Mari. Just like I knew they’d be.”
Thankfully, Margie hadn’t connected Mari to a heart rate monitor. Her pulse spike would have set off alarms—especially when Nima’s nostrils flared. He smelled her arousal. This confident, sexy, thirty-something side of Nima was new, and Mari liked it. She liked it a lot.
The door rattled a moment later, and Margieflew in. “Everyone decent?” She asked, not waiting for a response before she whipped back the curtain. She didn’t even glance at Mari or Nima as she tapped away at her laptop. And a good thing too. While Nima looked unruffled, Mari had no doubt turned as red as Rudolph’s nose.
“Good news,” Margie said. “No fractures.” She went over a list of things Mari needed to do, including icing, resting, elevating her ankle, and keeping her ribs wrapped. “And,” she said, patting a big plastic contraption on the counter next to her, “I’d like you to wear this air cast, Mari, while you heal.”
Margie thrust the instructions at Nima. “Make sure she doesn’t put any weight on that foot until after Christmas.”
He cocked his head, glancing down at the proffered paperwork—which he didn’t take. “I’m not?—”
Margie cut him off. “Aren’t you here acting as Mari’s caregiver?”
“I am right now. But between tonight and Christmas, that’s up to Mari.”
Margie crossed her arms. “Mari, you’ll need help for a few days. It’s late. I recommend you let Nima take you home and stay with you tonight. Get a goodnight’s rest, then discuss your further care tomorrow.”
“I can stay with you tonight, Mari,” Nima offered. “And we’ll talk in the morning.”
Her tired, achy—and well, horny—self couldn’t argue, even if she’d wanted to. She wasn’t foolish enough to turn down help, especially this close to the holidays and with her family out of town. Plus, part of her celebrated. She had a unique opportunity to spend time with Nima—and she was nearly one-hundred percent sure it wasn’t just her lady bits singing fa-la-la about the situation. She pressed her legs together, attempting to stifle further arousal, and managed a straight face as she said, “Thanks, Nima. I would appreciate that.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nima woke with a sore back, a stiff neck, and soft fingers carding through the fur on the top of his head, making all the discomfort worth it.
After arriving at Mari’s late last night from the clinic, settling her into bed, and doing a quick check for earthquake damage around her house, he’d fallen asleep in a stiff wooden kitchen chair he’d dragged to her bedside. Eventually he’d leaned forward, resting the side of his head on her bed as he dozed.
If she knew he was awake now, would she stop touching him? Nima wouldn’t risk it. He’d pretend to be asleep for as long as possible.
As Mari continued, he fought a satisfied growl under the rhythmic motion of her hand, savoring the moment—a moment that lastedabout five more seconds when the room jolted with another earthquake. Nima bolted upright in the chair, blue knuckles nearly white as he gripped its armrests.
He glanced at the still-dark bedroom window where the panes of glass rattled in the sill. No doubt it was morning. But on December twenty-third, the sun didn’t rise until most restaurants in Wildwood stopped serving breakfast. The only light came from the bathroom down the hall. He’d left it on as a nightlight. It flickered, but didn’t go out.
“Aftershock,” Mari said, stating the obvious. To ease the pain from her bruised ribs, she lay upright against a nest of pillows at the head of the bed. She’d tucked both arms under the covers, as if she hadn’t just had her fingers in his fur. Sneaky.
Nima couldn’t stop staring at her. Twenty-four hours ago, he couldn’t have imagined waking up with Mari ever again. Last night, after being stuck in the closet with her at the Blackwoods, he’d come here to have a much-needed discussion about their breakup. But the earthquake, her injuries and their time at the clinic, and exhaustion once they’d made it back to her cabin, had derailed it.
No more excuses. His chair creaked in protest, the sound cutting through the tense silence, as heshifted his weight and took a deep breath. “We need to talk, Mari.”
He pulled her rings—theirrings?—out from under his T-shirt. He’d secured her necklace around his neck while she underwent X-rays. It fit, but barely. She’d eyed them afterward but hadn’t asked him to return them. “Let’s start with these.” He held the rings between his fingers. “And your request for a divorce. The envelope you had last night fell in the snow. I set it on your kitchen table after we returned from the clinic.”
“Thank you,” she said, glancing from the rings to his face, then back. “You seemed surprised. Not surprised that I would ask for a divorce, but surprised we were even married. Did you... not realize we’ve been married all this time?”
Nima’s heart pounded, and his mouth went dry, but he clearly replied, “No. I didn’t know. We’re actually—legally—married? Are these our wedding rings?”
Mari’s lips trembled, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She swiped it with a finger. “Yes, we’re legally married. And those were supposed to be our wedding rings, but yours didn’t quite fit. We were going to get it resized.” She huffed a humorless laugh as another fat tear traileddown her cheek. “How do you not know that we’re married? It’s the reason you left me. You said so in your text. And then you told your mom you’d made poor decisions and regretted them.” Tears suddenly streamed down her cheek. “You regretted me.”
“No, Mari, I?—”
Her sob cut him off, wrenching his already broken heart in two. “What did I do? Why did you leave me—on our wedding night?”
His throat went dry. She had it all wrong. And seeing Mari like this—tears streaking her face, her bottom lip quivering with sorrow—tortured Nima.
His voice cracked with emotion. “Mari, I never regretted you.” How could she have come to such a conclusion?
