40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,68
the counter.”
She stifled a snort. “No doctor has ever said that, not once, in the entire history of the medical profession.”
“Are you sure?” His dimples popped. “I was certain I’d heard that somewhere.”
“Just microwave the damn booties, Karlsson.”
After one last kiss on her forehead, he let her go and got to his feet in one graceful motion. “I will. But first, I’m going to lower the AC to arctic-tundra levels. Hopefully that’ll keep the rest of you cool while you’re using the booties. Otherwise, you may simply melt into the couch.” Heading for the thermostat near the entry door, he tossed the next words over his shoulder. “I’m afraid for my security deposit.”
He didn’t seem to hurry through any of the tasks he kept setting himself in pursuit of her comfort. Somehow, though, a mere five minutes later, she was stretched out along his couch, her head resting on a pillow in his lap, an icy glass of fresh strawberry lemonade within easy reach, four floral-scented booties tucked inside her shirt and warming her belly as the rest of her finally cooled to tolerable levels.
He, on the other hand, had donned a faded blue sweatshirt with three yellow crowns on it. “Because the temperature in here is beginning to remind me of a Stockholm winter,” he’d told her. “Polar bears should come strolling by any minute now. Don’t worry, though, Tess. Swedes are taught to defend themselves from polar bear attacks as toddlers, lest our population dwindle to one old dude named Sven Svensson living in an ice cave. I’ll protect you.”
More bullshit she was going to let slide, simply because she was so damn comfortable.
He placed the remote in her hand and waved toward the wide-screen television in clear invitation. “I have lots of cable and streaming options. Pick whatever you’d like.”
Well, he’d asked for it.
She flipped through the choices in one of his streaming services until she found what she wanted. A few moments later, the black-and-white RKO logo appeared, and she snuggled her cheek into the pillow and waited for Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn to appear onscreen.
“Bringing Up Baby?” He stroked a hand down her arm. “Interesting choice. Why do I feel as if I’m Susan in this particular scenario, despite my disappointing lack of a pet leopard?”
After a jaw-cracking yawn, she smiled at the screen and modified one of her favorite lines. “Now it isn't that I don't like you, Lucas, because, after all, in moments of quiet, I'm strangely drawn toward you, but—well, there haven't been any quiet moments.”
His body shifted beneath her as he laughed softly. “This is a quiet moment.”
“Fair enough,” she said, and then yawned again. “Thank you again. For everything.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, sifting gently, and she raised a hand to rest on his hard thigh. It turned to granite beneath her touch, and his fingers stilled for a moment before he kept playing with her hair.
The two of them watched the movie.
Well, one of them, mainly, since she lasted only a few minutes before falling asleep.
Nineteen
When Tess’s eyes blinked open again, the picture on the television had turned to full, vivid color, and screwball dialogue had transformed into grunts of effort and intermittent commentary about second serve percentages.
She could barely hear any of it. Lucas had set the volume very, very low.
“I didn’t know if you still watched professional tennis.” She blinked blearily at the screen, trying to gather her fuzzy thoughts. “I thought it might be an unwelcome reminder.”
His response was quiet. “I love the game. Despite everything. And I like to support my friends on the Tour.”
Her hand was still resting on his thigh, and she gave it a gentle, consoling squeeze.
As she shifted, something atop her moved, and she suddenly realized they were both covered in light blankets. She twitched a corner of hers. “I thought you were worried about my melting on your couch.”
“After about half an hour, you got goosebumps and kept cuddling closer and closer.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her temple. “I was afraid for my virtue.”
“Your virtue is in no danger.” She shifted to her back and looked up at his handsome, craggy face. “Largely because it’s already dead. I suspect you murdered it long ago.”
“There’s always the possibility of zombie virtue.”
Her laugh jarred the booties, and the faintly warm weights slid to her side. “How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour, I think.” His brow creased. “Do you want to sleep more?