His gray eyes had gone frosty. “We’re sleeping together, whether it’s in the shelter or out here. First, though,” he said grimly, “you’re going to get under these clothes with me and lie down for a little while, before you pass out.” As he spoke he was slowly, laboriously shifting onto his left side to face her.
Lying down felt like heaven to her achy body and swimmy head; the idea of being warm was such a delicious dream that she almost cried at the thought of it. Anger and hurt made her want to wrench away and stomp off to lie in the shelter in glorious solitude, but the reality was that she didn’t feel capable of stomping anywhere. Denied the satisfaction of physical resistance, she resorted to words. “You ungrateful jerk. I’ve always thought you were an ass, and now I’m sure of it. I’ll be damned if I give you any more of my chocolate.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, tugging her closer to him and struggling with the heavy layers of clothing so he could get them over her. Once that was accomplished, he pulled her even closer until she was nestled in his arms, against his half-naked body.
What felt like a blast furnace of heat enveloped her. Realistically she knew it wasn’t, that at best he was only moderately warm, but she was so cold in comparison he might as well have been on fire. Her cold face pressed into the warm crook of his neck and shoulder, his arm was around her back pressing her even closer, and the sensation of heat on her icy, throbbing hands was at once so painful and so wonderful that she almost burst into tears. Instead she shoved her hands against his naked sides in search of more warmth. He flinched and swore, but he didn’t remove them.
Bailey continued her litany of unhappiness, mumbling it against his warm throat. “When you go to sleep, I’m going to rip all those stitches out of your head. See if I don’t. And I’m taking my clothes, too; you can keep warm with your own clothes, all three pieces of them. And I want my mouthwash bottle back.”
“Shh,” he murmured. His hand was moving in slow strokes over her spine, up and down, up and down. “Rest now. You can finish giving me hell when you feel better.”
“I’ll give you hell on my own schedule, not yours. Are you smiling?” she asked furiously, jerking her head up to see because she could have sworn she heard that telltale note in his voice.
If he had been, he managed to wipe the evidence away before she could see it. “Who, me? Not in this lifetime. Come on, put your head down,” he said, moving his hand to the back of her head to apply a little pressure. “Get closer.”
Closer? The only way she could get closer was if she pulled off her clothes as well. She gave in to the insistence of his hand, once again pressing her face to the warmth of his skin. “Stop humoring me. I absolutely hate that, and it won’t work.”
“Never thought it would.”
Damn him, he was still doing it. She thought about pinching him, but that would require effort, and complete lassitude was washing over her. She wanted nothing more than to lie right there for the foreseeable future, her aching head on the warm pillow of his shoulder.
She didn’t dare go to sleep. Darkness was coming at them like a runaway freight train, and she still had so much left to do. “I need to get up. It’s getting dark—”
“We have a good hour of daylight left. We can afford five minutes for you to rest and get a little warmer. I’ve been adding snow to the mouthwash bottle as it melted, so we have about a pint of water if you need a drink.”
Did she ever. She hadn’t noticed him moving around, but she’d been kind of occupied so that wasn’t surprising. He pulled the bottle out from beneath the covers.
She could see some tiny dark specks of dirt floating in the melted snow, but she frankly didn’t give a rat’s patootie. She was so thirsty she could have drank all the water, but she allowed herself only three sips, swishing the wonderful liquid around in her mouth until it warmed before swallowing it. “That was good,” she said on a sigh, recapping the bottle. He returned it to its place under the covers, then once again tugged her close.
Wrapped tightly in his arms, surrounded by his heat, Bailey let all the tension seep out of her muscles. What the hell; as angry as he’d made her, the hard truth was that they were in this together. Faced with the brutal cold of a night at high altitude, they could either live together or die separately. It was just for one night; tomorrow they would be rescued. She would join up with Logan and Peaches, who by now must be crazy with worry, and maybe they could join the rafting party farther down the planned route. White-water rafting seemed kind of tame after being in a plane crash, she thought drowsily. There was adventure, and then there was adventure; nothing like a life-and-death situation to get the adrenaline pumping.
Gradually, another hard truth dawned on her.
Justice was half-dead from blood loss, his head was sliced open, and he undoubtedly had a concussion. He’d already been close to life-threatening hypothermia, and God only knew what other injuries he’d sustained. He’d been through all that—and the damn man had a hard-on.
13
“CRAP,” BAILEY SAID GUILTILY, EXAGGERATING ONLY A little. “You need to pee, don’t you? I’m sorry, I should have asked a long time ago.”
A couple of seconds ticked by before he said, “I’m okay. I can wait.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.” His tone was faintly annoyed.
She didn’t allow even a hint of a grin, because with her face pressed against him the way it was he’d feel her facial muscles move. If he’d had any thoughts of some convenient sex—she was convenient, so he’d have sex with her—attributing his erection to a bodily function instead of a manly one was sure to tell him that she certainly wasn’t thinking of him in terms of sex. How on earth he thought he could possibly do anything was beyond her, but she’d noticed that men often had no sense of reality when it came to their penises.