“Gone for five years now.”
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t look at her, just turned back to the lock. “Thanks.”
“My mom died two years ago,” she blurted out.
“I’m sorry.”
“We weren’t close.” Another blurt. Something she had never told anyone, least of all a complete stranger.
Silence, then, “Neither were my mom and I.” He sighed. “My parents were addicts and my father abusive. It was, frankly, a relief when they were gone.”
She inhaled sharply. “Dale.”
“But I’m lucky,” he said, ignoring her. “I grew up in a small town where people care about each other. I had safe places to crash as needed. I had food in my belly. And”—a sigh and he spun back around and set the tweezers down—“why am I telling you this?”
“Because we’re trapped, and there’s nothing to do but talk?”
His expression went hot. “There are definitely things we can do that don’t involve talking.”
Her brows lifted.
“That was a come-on,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”
“Well, it’s a come-on that’s not going to work,” she said.
“Damn. And I put so much effort into it.”
She snorted. “You don’t often blab your family history to strangers.”
“You’ve seen my diddly bits,” he told her. “I think that makes us more than strangers.”
Laughter bubbled up in her throat. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m something.”
“How are your lock-picking skills?”
“Lame.”
“Damn.”
He sighed, leaned back against the door. “Yeah.”
“I’ve flown halfway around the globe, and I’m not even going to get any business done.”
A frown as he glanced at her. “What did you do all day?”
Her lips curved despite herself. “Business.”
“So, what other business do you need to do?”
“It never stops.”
His eyes pierced through her. “Yeah? Or do you never stop?”
“I stop.”
“Hmm.”
“I do!” She picked up the tweezers and tried to pretend to know what she was doing with the lock—which basically meant she jabbed the sharp metal end into any hole she could find, all while not doing anything.
“When was the last time you stopped?”
She whipped around. “I stopped on the plane?”
“Yeah?” His lips twitched. “Or did you just stop long enough to reach the requisite thirty-thousand feet before you could turn on your laptop?”
“That’s not the point.”
He burst out laughing, and she couldn’t resist turning and watching him, seeing the amusement on his gorgeous face. So much strength and yet so much soft—soft eyes drifting up to meet hers, soft lips—
Or they looked soft.
She wanted to test and see if they were soft.
Stupid?
Probably.
But he was right about one thing. She didn’t stop. She hadn’t stopped. Not in the last two years. Not often in her entire life.
“It was always me trying to prove to my parents that I was worthy,” she whispered, sinking to the floor, Dale mirroring her action by sitting beside her. “I was always trying to be the best, to do all the extracurriculars, to get the best grades, go to the best schools, earn multiple degrees, understand every bit of the business.” She shifted to lean her back against the door, curling her legs under her, fiddling with her robe, making sure it covered as much of her as possible. Then she stopped delaying, and just . . . let it out. Dale was right. She hadn’t stopped in a long time, and she certainly hadn’t ever given voice to all of the dark things in her heart and soul. “I learned the scientific name for every plant in my mother’s garden, wanting her to be impressed.”
He rested his palm on her knee.
Just a warm, work-worn palm on an innocent part of her body.
And yet, it was more than her parents had ever given her.
“Was she?”
“No,” she admitted. “It wasn’t like she was intentionally cruel or mean.” A sigh. “My parents were so in love with each other, they didn’t have space in their lives for anything but each other. Travel over the holidays and leave me at home?” She shrugged. “Without a second thought. Missed a school performance because they needed to celebrate their anniversary in Fiji? Absolutely. And yet . . . I know I’m lucky. I had a home and food and my health.”
“But you felt unloved.”
“Gah. That sounds pathetic.”
“No, it sounds like something most every other person on this planet has felt at some point.”
She made a face.
“What?” he asked. “You think you’re immune?”
“I just think . . .” She had no words to express what she was feeling.
“This is too much for Christmas Eve, nearly naked, and with a stranger.”
“Yes. That.”
Except this man, this Dale wasn’t exactly feeling like a stranger. He felt like . . .
More.
Seven
Dale
They sat for a little while in quiet before he propped himself up and attempted to pick that lock again.
With no success.
Because he had no fucking idea what he was doing.
“I think you can give it up,” she said a few minutes later.
“Said no man ever,” he quipped, but he did give it up, sinking back down and trying not to flash her. He should grab some more towels, give her something to warm up with, and it wasn’t like he was roasting with just the strip of cotton around his waist. Not to mention the chance of flashing.
The shower space was well-heated and still humid from his shower, but it was cold outside, and he knew that would seep into the room pretty soon.
He should move, maybe try to bust down that door.
Except . . . he didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay next to this woman and untangle all of her secrets.
She shivered.
And his wants didn’t matter.
Pushing to his feet, he was across the room in seconds, opening the cabinet and pulling out the stack of towels. He crossed back to her, passed several over, keeping one to cover his upper body.
“Wh—”
“You’re cold.”
Her expression went blank.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. “We’ve done enough sharing for strangers.”
“For strangers trapped in a room together for the interminable future?”
“Yes, that.”
He nodded, covered himself with the towel and leaned back against the wall. “So, want to sing your favorite Christmas carol?”
Her eyes shot to his then narrowed.
Probably because he was laughing his ass off.
“Hilarious,” she muttered.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m sure someone will miss us sooner or later and come looking.”
“It’s the later part that worries me.”
“We’ll be fine. Bundle up in those towels, and we’ll work on being patient.” He smiled. “And if patient doesn’t work, I’ll put my foot at risk and try to kick down that door.”