It was a few minutes of silence before he dared to sigh and say, “I can’t sleep.” He could tell by her breathing she didn’t either.
Rather than pretend, she accepted the opening and made conversation. “Were you afraid you’d get lost when you went hunting?”
“I’ve got good sense of direction.”
“Even in a storm?” she asked.
How to explain that he now apparently had a lodestone to orient him. A mate. No one ever told him they acted like a compass. Would it work in reverse? Would she know when he went to the bar?
He side-eyed her. She was human. It probably wasn’t the same.
He didn’t know, and she wanted an answer to her original query. “Given the shit visibility, I didn’t stray too far.”
She shifted in place. “Who do you think used to own this place?”
“Probably a guy looking for peace and quiet.”
She craned her head, trying to look back at him. “Why a guy? Who says it’s not a girl?”
“Just a gut feel. And a lack of books.”
“What does books have to do with anything?” Apparently tired of trying and failing at the exorcism head spin, she rolled on the pillow to eye him.
“Guys who go off in the woods by themselves don’t read. They clean their guns. Fix their traps. Oil and sharpen stuff.” He should know. He’d done it.
“Meaning women are lazy.”
“No, just more efficient in the daytime. You multitask better most of the time, so at night, you all have time to read.”
Her lips rounded in the most delightful way. “That is ridiculously sexist.”
It was, but he did point out, “It’s a compliment that you’re smarter than guys.”
“Calling women book nerds is—” She pursed her lips. “Okay, so it’s not an insult, but it is a generalization.”
“So what you’re saying is you wouldn’t bring a book to a cabin?”
“I never said that. I would totally bring a book, or two, maybe a wheelbarrow full. But that’s not the point. I’m not every woman.”
“You agree and yet won’t say you agree. And right there, that is why I will never understand women,” he grumbled.
“We’re complex,” she admitted.
“I’m not.” It was a strange thing to admit to his Peanut, and yet it caused her to have the most contemplative expression.
“A day ago, I would have agreed and said you were a simple playboy, flashy exterior, shallow interior.”
“But now?” he asked softly.
“You’re maybe not as vain and annoying as I thought.”
“Careful with that wild praise, my head might explode,” he teased. Something tickled his cheek.
He would have thought nothing of it, but her eyes widened in horror and she screamed almost loud enough to shatter his eardrums. Charlotte scrambled from their spot, dancing and yelling.
At first, he thought she was screaming, “Fire,” then realized it was spider.
Oh, the tickly thing. He swept the insect from his body.
But that only made her yodeling worse.
Afraid of a spider? Ridiculous. Everyone knew it was those nasty ticks you had to watch for.
Even after he put the eight-legged devil outside, she sat huddled with her knees to her chest, eyeing the room suspiciously.
“It’s gone. You can lie down.”
“I can’t. Did you see the size of it? You know they say we swallow at least one spider a year. I’d choke if it tried to crawl into my mouth.”
“It is not surviving that storm to return.”
“It probably has friends.
“I’ll protect you.”
“I’d rather just go home,” she wailed.
“You will. Soon. But you can’t stay awake the entire time. Come here.” He patted the spot on the pillow beside him.
She lay down, tucked close enough it gave a man ideas. He wouldn’t act on them, though. There was a time and place for seduction. While a woman was scared wasn’t one of them, and while some would say a cottage with a roaring fire was romantic, he doubted either of them would enjoy the hard floor.
Pity the place didn’t come with a bear rug. But they did have a blanket folded to the side. He shook it out, made sure it had no eight-legged surprises, and then draped it over her.
Her happy sigh was worth the effort. He lay back behind her, not touching, even if he wanted to.
“Do you have enough blanket?” she asked suddenly.
“I don’t need one.”
“Meaning no.” She squirmed and wiggled and tugged at that blanket until some of it covered him. It left her closer than before by the time it was all said and done. Her back was to his chest, but she kept her bottom just out of each.
Her scent filled his senses. Calmed him even as it excited.
It must have proved soothing to her, too, because she murmured a drowsy, “Shouldn’t one of us stay awake to fend off spiders?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep watch.”
He woke to her shrill scream.
Chapter Eight
This time Charlotte didn’t wake up smooshed under Lawrence but spooned against him. An admittedly comfy spot, especially the weight of his arm over her. However, nice as it was, she had to pee something fierce. All that melted snow she’d drunk had gone through her.
The wind that howled a disharmonious symphony the night before had died down, and light crept in around the edges of the shutters. They’d made it through the night; however, having to pee brought a glaring problem into view. Either she squatted in a corner or she had to go outside.
Since she would probably die of embarrassment if he caught her pissing on the floor, she chose outside, but that meant first getting away from him without waking him up.
She took her time shimmying free. He grunted a few times, even tightened his arm at once point, but eventually she managed to get out of their warm nest. She immediately shivered. The fire had sputtered into embers. The cold began to seep and win against the warmth.
Lawrence rolled and muttered a very sleepy, “Whatcha doing?”
Not telling him the truth, that was for sure. “Putting a log on the fire.”
A plausible excuse. She snared a piece and, rather than toss it like him, placed it inside the hearth.
“Put two,” was his advice before he started snoring again.
She quickly slipped on her coat and shoes then grasped the door. The first creak made his snore sputter.
She froze. He settled, and she pulled the door all the way open.
Damn it was bright. All that white plus sunshine made for squinty conditions. She stumbled through the snow, at least a foot of fresh stuff, leaving a clear trail, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She walked around the side of the cottage before she finally popped a squat. The handful of snow she used to wipe herself clean just about froze her bits, and she hastily pulled up her pants.
She didn’t want to think of what she’d do when number two hit. The sudden tumble of snow off the roof hit her in a cold avalanche and drew a scream, especially since it found that crack between neckline and skin and fell down her back.
As she stumbled back to the cottage, her feet and shoes soaked and cold, she saw Lawrence standing in the doorway. Leaning against it. Disheveled. The good start to a beard on his jaw. And way sexier than she felt with her messy hair and pasty mouth.