Merry Mended Hearts (Santa’s Radio Christmas Romance #1)

17. Grace

GRACE

I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover from the impact of colliding with Boone. My body hummed at the idea of sleeping where he usually did. With the flashlight in hand, I drew back the blanket, sank onto the mattress, and slipped my feet in.

The sheets were like plunging into a frozen river. I curled my legs up close to my torso, waiting to warm up before stretching my legs out, but every time I tried, the bed only seemed colder.

Eventually, I managed to convince my legs to straighten out. While part of my body warmed beneath the thick quilt, that warmth refused to spread to my heels and toes. Even my shoulders shivered. It didn’t help that inordinate amounts of chilled air seeped in from the window where the sound of wind howled by.

Try as I might, I couldn’t make myself get any warmer.

I rubbed my feet against each other. There was friction in the moment, but as soon as I stopped, my feet went right back to being cold.

I’d always had the opposite problem in Arizona. Everything was so blasted hot. I usually relished the coolness once I stepped inside any building and out of the soul-crushing heat.

“I’ll never look at air conditioning the same way again,” I muttered to the silence.

Again, I waited, huddling my legs close to my chest, waiting for the promised warmth to spread and allow me to relax enough to sleep—which my tired body craved.

But the longer I lay there, the colder I became.

My jaw was juddering again.

I fluttered my lips. Boone was being a generous host, but this wasn’t working. It was as though the cold had gone bone-deep, falling into the underside of me where heat couldn’t penetrate.

I’d love that hot tub back at Harper’s Inn right about now…

Shivering, I sat up. Movement was my best chance of getting warm now. Unless…

The front room had been nice and toasty during our fish dinner. Did he still have a fire going? Maybe Boone would be willing to trade places. After all, he slept here all the time. The cold in his room probably didn’t bother him as much as it did me.

Light gleamed from beneath the door, so I decided to chance it.

The minute I opened the door, heat instantly enveloped me. It was so welcome, tears nearly sprang to my eyes.

But that wasn’t the crux.

The real getter was the sight of Boone sitting on the couch. He was beneath the quilt he’d retrieved, wearing a pair of glasses and reading a book by firelight.

And he was shirtless.

The firelight’s fading orange glow emphasized the shadows in the curves of his biceps and shoulders. I swore his chest glistened, calling out the definition in his pecks and abs and stealing the sense from any thought I’d ever had.

He was mouthwateringly beautiful.

“Hey, there,” he said in surprise, lowering his book. “Everything okay?”

I had to manually close my jaw.

I had a reason for coming in here, didn’t I? A valid excuse for standing here like a bamboozled idiot.

Boone’s brow quirked. He peered down at his chest, and then he smirked.

Of course, he did.

The moment he peered down long enough to place a bookmark into his book, that freed me to get a grip. I took a step closer.

“This room is much warmer than that one,” I said by way of explanation. “You wear glasses?”

And sleep shirtless?

“Only to read by,” he said. “And yes, this place gets a little drafty. I don’t mind it, usually. I’m always hot when I sleep.”

I snorted. With this view, I doubted his schedule for hotness was limited to sleep alone.

“Boy, that sounded like a brag, didn’t it?” He pulled at his neck, displaying his impressive bicep.

I took another step, this one closer to the fire. The embers weren’t as full and flickering as before, but it was still warm.

“I wasn’t going to say it,” I said.

“Go ahead, say it.”

“Okay, you’re hot.”

He laughed and shook his head, setting the book on the end table. “That’s not what I meant. You were supposed to tell me I’m full of myself.”

“Are you full of yourself?” I hadn’t gotten that vibe. “Distant and closed-off, maybe. Rude at times. Grumpy. But not cocky.”

“Only when I’m trying to make myself sound better than I am.”

I rubbed my arms. Now that the shock of seeing him like this was cooling, I wished the fire was at full force as it’d been before I’d gone to bed.

“Sorry, I’m just—I’m not used to this much cold . It never drops like this down where I’m from. It’s like, seeped into my bones, and I can’t seem to shake it. I’ve been freezing in there.”

Boone pressed his lips together. His forehead pinched in concentration. After several long moments, he resituated, lowered his feet to the floor, and reached for his shirt. Slipping it over his head, he then lifted the blanket from his lap.

“Come on over here,” he said.

I went rigid. “You mean sit with you?”

“Yes, I do. I’m about to brag about myself again, but I have heard somewhere that two bodies nestled together can create more heat side by side than one person alone.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” I hedged.

“Care to test the theory? It’s better than you shivering all night long. I’d never forgive myself if you lost toes on my watch.”

I chewed my lower lip. This was the last thing I’d expected from him, and it was not why I’d come out here. But I couldn’t deny how tempting his offer was.

Was this wise, getting so close to him?

Guess it was time to find out.

I took his offer. I tiptoed across the room, did an ungraceful pirouette, and nestled close to his side.

Boone placed the blanket over us both. Then, he draped his arm around my shoulder.

Were the planets realigning? The stars were, at least. Something in the atmosphere, in the molecules that made up the world and kept the earth in its place in the solar system shifted. The sensation sent off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

The man was an oven, a blaze all on his own. He smelled like cedar and musk, and his proximity warmed me instantly, making me want to sink into his side and nestle there.

I released a relieved moan and tucked in against him.

“Won’t I make you cold now?”

Boone’s arm tightened around me. “Not possible. I’m hot, remember?”

I laughed and burrowed in. Being this close to him was comfortable—more than I thought it would be. He was strong and warm and secure. And he smelled so good.

Honestly, the musk of forest and wood on him was enough to make me want to lick him.

Which would be highly inappropriate.

I stared at the fire’s red embers peeking through what remained of the logs. Chunks of blackened wood filled the fireplace, dusting the ash.

A tick at a time, cold gradually dissipated from inside of me, leaving my bones to go back where it belonged. And it was replaced by something else.

His body had a magnet. Being this close to him awakened something primal in me, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced before. I wanted him to turn his face. To pull me closer.

Which meant conversation was extremely necessary before I did something stupid like climbing onto his lap.

“How’s your book?” I asked, gesturing to the volume he’d placed on the table beside him.

I couldn’t see the title.

“It’s good.”

Silence.

Okay, then. Next topic.

“You know, even despite the cold, I still love it.”

“Love what?” His voice rumbled in his chest.

“Snow. I wish I could take some home with me. More than that, I wish I didn’t have to go home. I’ve never been anywhere like this. To a place that makes me feel like this.”

“Like what?” His velvet voice strummed my senses, making them purr.

Do not climb into the nice man’s lap.

Stay right where you are.

“That it’s okay to slow down. To breathe and enjoy the scenery.” Not to mention that being held by Boone while his fingers stroked my arm? Made my pulse pound in my ears.

Did he know he was doing it? Did he have any idea of the effect he had on me?

“Where do you work?” he asked.

“At a call center. We sell homeopathic cleaning products and natural remedies, that kind of thing. I’m always inside—it’s too hot to do much outside in nature. And the desert has its own kind of beauty, but with woods like these where you live? I think I’d like to get lost even without the snow.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Boone said, speaking as though he hadn’t meant to.

My heart drummed a little harder. “Why? To get lost? You seemed to know exactly where you were going out there.”

He stared off for a few moments and then seemed to shake off whatever dark thought plagued him. When he spoke, it was to change the subject.

“You said you’re writing something. What are you writing?”

I leaned my head against his shoulder. His arm tightened, holding me close, and that warmed my limbs, allowing me to relax against him that much more.

“I’m working on a fantasy novel. You know—elves, castles, magic. I like fantasy.”

“I do, too. Are you going to let me read what you’re working on?” His fingers stroked my arm.

“Um, no?”

He laughed, but I was dead serious. I couldn’t let him see that half of my descriptions were daydreams about him…and the other half called him a demon.

“Grace.” His voice was full of hesitation, and he turned his head, looking right at me.

The fading firelight glimmered in his brown eyes. They trailed over my features, stopping on my mouth.

My mouth was a desert. “Yes?”

“About my apology earlier?—”

“It’s okay.” I wanted to assure him. I wanted him to know I was okay with this turn of events. “Really. I’m not at my best all the time, either.”

One side of his mouth lifted, drawing my attention to his mouth, too. My fingers itched to touch him, to rub the soft scruff on his sharp jawline.

“You’re being extremely kind,” he said. His chest lifted, and he took a ragged breath. “But I just wanted to say I’m not myself this time of year.”

“Why not?” I asked.

He lowered his chin and sniffed, shaking his head as though he didn’t want to answer.

“That is a complicated answer.”

“We have a while,” I said, placing my hand on his arm. I fought the urge to trace my fingers along the shape of the muscle I’d noticed before. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay.”

Turning, brushing his legs against mine, he tilted his head against mine, surprising me. My breath hitched, catching in my chest.

His face was so close, now. His fingers roved over mine, threading themselves through and holding my hand in his.

His touch was electric. It zapped all the way up to my collarbone.

This was no mere effort to keep me warm. This was a connection. An inclusion. It was as if he needed the reassurance of my touch as much as I needed his. And I waited for him to tell me his story.