“Good night,” she murmured, the words slurred, as she nestled closer and pressed her face against his shoulder.
“Good night,” he said. He kissed her forehead, draped his arm over her hip, and settled himself to catch what sleep he could.
14
THE COLD WOKE HER. BAILEY SURFACED FROM A FRETFUL sleep, shivering. She ached all over, and felt generally miserable. Complete darkness surrounded her and she almost panicked, would have panicked, if not for the unmistakable sensation of being held tightly in someone’s arms. On a subconscious level she recognized the scent, the feel of him, and knew there was no cause for alarm.
Or maybe there was, since his left hand was tucked inside the elastic waistbands of both her sweatpants and her underwear, resting on her bare butt.
Just as her hands were tucked under his shirt, she realized, seeking the warmth of his skin.
Icy air seeped through the heavy layers of clothing that covered them. Chills raced over her spine. Was there a gap in the covers? She reached behind her back with a questing hand, to see if she’d dislodged some of the garments.
“Are you awake?” Cam asked in a low tone, so if she wasn’t the question wouldn’t disturb her. She could feel the faint vibration the sound made in his chest, almost like a deep masculine purr. It made her want to nestle even closer, if that was physically possible.
“I’m cold,” she replied in a murmur. “And would you move your hand, please?”
“Which hand? This one?” His fingers wiggled against the cleft of her bottom, disturbingly close to, well, disturbingly close.
“Justice!” she said in sharp warning, narrowing her eyes at him even though the thick darkness made the action useless.
“I have brain damage, remember? I’m not responsible for my actions—or for the actions of my hand, which acted of its own volition and without my knowledge.”
She made a derisive little sound, but she was fighting a smile. Lying with him like this in the darkness was seductive, she realized. They were doing it to survive, but the reason behind the action in no way weakened the sense of intimacy the circumstances had forged between them. Her innate caution began sounding an alarm. If she weren’t careful, she could find herself drifting into exactly the kind of impulsive relationship she’d seen cause so much trouble in so many lives, her own parents’ among them. With such firsthand experience of the havoc bad personal choices could make on whole families, she’d always been ultra-careful not to let her emotions rule her head.
Bailey didn’t do impulsive, not in her financial life and certainly not in her personal one. She didn’t know Cam Justice; she’d been acquainted with him for a few years, but she didn’t know him—and their acquaintance hadn’t been cordial. She doubted he’d changed much in the past twelve hours or so, and she knew she hadn’t. To go from barely tolerating each other to sleeping together—in the literal sense, of course—in such a short length of time was mind-boggling enough by itself, without letting the situation cause her to make stupid decisions.
So instead of laughing, she said, “Move it or lose it.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be use it or lose it?” He sounded amused but he moved his hand, pulling it out of the back of her pants and tucking his fingers, instead, just under her shirt. She didn’t quibble about that; after all, she was still warming her hands on him.
And she liked touching him. The thought set off another alarm, but not recognizing the fact when it was staring her in the face seemed even more dangerous. What was there not to like? He was tall and lean, his body hard with muscle. He wasn’t handsome, but the rugged masculinity of his features appealed to her. She flashed to the sudden image of seeing that face above her in bed, of those strong arms braced on each side of her as her legs twined around his hips—
She jerked her thoughts away from the fantasy. Don’t go there. She didn’t believe in acting on sexual attraction, because if ever there was a situation when hormones took over decision-making from the brain, that was it. The stronger the attraction, the more control she exerted. In fact, she made it a point to avoid men to whom she was strongly attracted. She’d never had a passionate affair, never been in love, and didn’t intend to start now. Love and passion should come clearly marked with signs that read: Caution: May Cause Stupidity.
Her back and legs were aching so much she couldn’t get comfortable. She shifted around, searching for a better position. After yesterday, she was probably covered with bruises, and it wasn’t surprising that she felt sore after being in a plane crash. She shivered as another chill swept over her. “What time is it?” she asked. When daylight came, she’d be able to move around, and the temperature would start rising.
He moved his left hand again, lifting it and pressing a button on the side of his watch so the face was briefly illuminated. “Almost four-fifteen. We slept about four hours. How are you feeling?”
He was asking her that? He was the one with a huge gash in his head. He was the one who’d almost bled to death, who had gone into hypothermia. He was concussed, and could barely move under his own steam; she doubted he could walk ten yards unaided. Maybe such a disconnect from reality was a defect in the male chromosome.
“I have a headache, I ache in every muscle, and I’m cold,” she said succinctly. “Other than that, I’m good. How about you?”
Instead of answering he touched her face, his fingers cool on her skin. “I think you have a fever. You say you’re cold, but your skin feels hot to me. In fact, I’d probably be cold if you weren’t giving off so much heat.”