“That was for dinner.” He eyed her critically, moving forward even more, frowning as he registered the heat in the apartment. “Why do you have it so hot in here?”
“I told you, I’m cold.” Despite herself, her voice sounded querulous. He reached out and placed a warm hand on her forehead. She would have jerked back, but the warmth felt so good she felt herself lean a little into his hand.
A slight frown knit his forehead. “You don’t seem to be feverish.”
“Of course I’m not. I just told you, I’m cold.”
“Then something is wrong, because it’s hot in here.”
“Says the man wearing a jacket.” She sniffed in disdain and moved away from him to reclaim her seat in the corner of the couch, curling into herself for warmth.
He wasn’t the least put off by her snappishness. “It’s called a suit,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Do you feel ill in any other way?”
“I don’t feel ill at all. I’m just cold.”
He regarded her stubbornly set face for a moment. “You know that isn’t normal.”
“Maybe my internal thermostat’s messed up,” she muttered, though she didn’t really think so. The coldness had begun with the change, so she had thought there was nothing she could do about it. On the other hand, the thought that she might actually be ill wasn’t any more welcome. She didn’t have time for illness, so she refused to be ill. It was that simple.
His dark eyes were sharp and probing as he continued to study her. “How long has this been going on?”
If she hadn’t been so cold, she could have asserted herself, but it was difficult to sound assertive when anything she said was filtered through chattering teeth. Rather than appear ridiculous, she said, “I stay cold, most of the time, but this is the worst it’s been.”
“You need to see a doctor,” he said decisively. “Come on, get dressed and I’ll take you.”
“Forget it.” Pulling the blanket closer, Sweeney rested her head on her knees. Deciding to turn the pressure on him, she said, “You should have called before you came over.”
“So you could tell me not to come? That’s why I didn’t call.” He touched her hand and frowned at the iciness of her fingers.
“Well, I can’t go out, and you can bet your last penny I’m not going to cook for you.”
“I don’t expect you to.” He was still frowning as he watched her, half turned toward her with one arm resting along the back of the couch. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering, wishing he would go. He was too close, and she was too cold. A woman couldn’t muster her defenses when she had to concentrate on shivering.
“Okay,” he said, getting to his feet as if he had made a decision. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and shrugged out of it.
“What are you doing?” Sweeney demanded, sitting up in alarm. Even as she said it, the question struck her as stupid, since obviously she could see what he was doing. It was the why that alarmed her.
“Getting you warm.” He plucked the blanket from her grasp and pulled it away. Before she could protest, he settled his jacket around her shoulders.
The warmth was almost shocking. She inhaled sharply in relief as the heat sank into her spine. My God, the man must be like a furnace, for his jacket to absorb that much of his body heat. The sensation was so delicious she didn’t notice him sitting down again until he scooped her onto his lap.
She went rigid with a brief moment of panic, then pushed hard at him as she swung one foot to the floor so she could stand. To her astonishment, he simply wrapped his arms around her and gathered her in as if she were a child, lifting her feet onto the couch and holding her close. He tucked the blanket around both of them, making sure her feet were covered.
“Body heat,” he said calmly. “That’s one of the first things they taught us in army survival courses, to huddle together when we got cold.”
Sweeney stilled, lured both by the incredible warmth wrapping around her and by the image his words brought up in her mind. She couldn’t help smiling. “I can just see all you tough young soldiers cuddling together.”
“Not cuddling, huddling. There’s a difference.” He laid his hand over her feet; she was struck by the fact that his hand was big enough to cover both of her feet. Heat began seeping through her socks to her icy toes.
Convulsive shivering suddenly shook her, despite the warmth of coat, blanket, and body, and Richard gathered her closer, tucking her head under his chin and pulling the blanket up so that her nose was covered, warming the air she breathed. “You’re going to smother me,” she protested.
“Not for a while yet.” There was that note of laughter in his voice again, though when she rolled her head back to see, his mouth was perfectly straight. No, not straight; she paused, mesmerized by the clear cut of his lips. He had a good mouth, not too thin, not too full. Not so wide that a woman would feel as if she might fall in, and not so small it looked as if he’d just sucked a lemon like Ronald Trump’s, or whatever his name was. All in all, Richard’s lips looked just right.
“You’re staring,” he said.
Over the years she had been caught staring at people more times than she could remember, and usually it didn’t bother her, but this time she blushed. “I do that,” she mumbled. “Stare at people. I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t bother me. Stare away.”
There was a warm, soft, indulgent tone in his voice that gave her another one of those alarming, exciting stomach flutters. It occurred to her that sitting in a man’s lap was not a good way to discourage his attentions, or flatten her own interest. On the other hand, not only did she doubt he would let her get up, the warmth was so marvelous she didn’t want to get up, at least not now. Though she still shivered, she could tell the body heat thing was working, because the shivers were lessening in intensity.