The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,36
want to talk about it.”
“Understood. But you’ve mentioned not wanting to get sick a couple of times now because of some job interview, so I think you need to get inside and throw on some dry clothes. You can hang yours in front of the fire and wait until they dry, or I can wash and dry—”
“I’m not getting naked with you,” she sniffs. “I’m—”
“There happens to be three bathrooms and a couple of bedrooms, all have doors, with working locks, Nikki.”
In the silence, I hear her teeth chattering.
“At this rate, you’re going to chip a tooth and catch pneumonia, both hindering your ability to attend your interview. Are you going to walk, or am I going to carry you inside?”
She doesn’t answer but simply gets out of the vehicle. I follow suit like the lovesick fool I think I’m already becoming.
Standing behind her, I reach around and tap in the security code and then open the door.
“Up the stairs and to the lef—”
“I know,” she says quietly.
I shake my head at her. “You’re going to have to take my bed. Unfortunately, your place is occupied at the moment.” I lift the drenched coat off her head, and she looks over her shoulder and up at me. “I’m being a friend right now. I can offer you warm clothes, a cup of tea, a shoulder, and a listening ear. If you don’t want any of them, I have a bed that happens to be the most comfortable on the planet, and if that’s too much, Nathaniel has a kick-ass set-up in his room.”
“Uh huh.”
I wave my hand in front of us. “After you.”
Once up the stairs, I punch in the code to our door and swing it open. When she walks in, she does a quick sweep of the main floor, and then her head tips up.
The bottom floor is completely open, the brick walls exposed, and the floors are the original wood that was here when I bought the place, simply refinished.
The second level is completely open in the center, except from the bridge that leads from one side to the other. A balcony wraps around the entire perimeter.
“If you’d like, you can use the bathroom down here, and I’ll grab you some dry clothes and set them outside the door. There are toiletries in the cabinet and fresh towels if you’d like to shower. Or if you’d rather a soak, take the stairs straight ahead. Nathaniel’s room is to the left. Mine is to the right, and they both have bathrooms. Feel free to pick whichever you’ll be most comfortable in.”
I toe off my boots, and while I’m bent over and placing them on the shoe rack, I unzip hers.
“Feel free to look around. I’ll go grab you some clothes and set them outside whichever bathroom you chose.”
I pull my wet jacket off and toss it on the floor next to the fireplace, grab the remote off the twenty-foot concrete island that separates the galley style kitchen, the living room, and the open concept living and dining area. I hit the power button to the fireplace, and it roars to life.
I leave her to it and head upstairs to grab her some dry clothes.
I settle on clothing that will keep her warm, a crew neck sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweats that I’d dragged from the back of my closet where I had put them when they became an issue with the local women and hurry back to her.
When I hit the bottom of the stairs, she’s standing in front of the fire. Wet clothes are draped on the wooden spindled drying rack we used to dry the outerwear that gets too wet from the heavy snow in the winter.
Does it bother me that she pulled it out of the closet and made herself at home? No more than it bothers me that she is standing barefoot and half-naked, curling her toes into the bear skin rug, which is not at fucking all.
Her legs are long and toned, and her arse, my favorite apple shape, full and delicious looking. Not that I can see it fully with her shirt hanging past the supplest part, which is abso-fucking-lutely fine.
From behind, I can see that her arms are crossed over her chest, and she’s running her hands up and down her damp shirt sleeves, warming her body.
I clear my throat before walking across the room so that she knows I’m in the room.