Читать книгу Lost in You - Sommer Marsden - Страница 7

He didn’t have a coat to offer me. He seemed the kind of guy who would if he had one to give. When he gripped the hem of his fisherman’s knit sweater and pulled it up, suddenly exposing a flat, taut belly, I found myself holding my breath. Then he got the sweater up further and I saw a blue T-shirt beneath it.

‘Here, let’s get this on you. A bit damp but not nearly as damp as you are.’ He tugged the cream-coloured sweater over his head and I let myself ogle him for the instant that his head was totally covered.

His body was lean and firm. He obviously worked out or kept in shape somehow, but wasn’t obsessive about it. I had a fleeting vision of him unbuttoning his well-worn jeans and shut my eyes tight like I was wishing away a monster in the dark. Not appropriate. Not by a long shot. A rich, handsome, nice guy like this obviously would have a female following of epic proportions. He probably had a girlfriend designated for every night of the week. A few for weekends just to keep things interesting.

He handed me the sweater and I stared at it like a dolt. Outside something struck the mall doors and I jumped. My grandmother was alone. Aunt Brani lived next door. She really wasn’t my aunt, she’d just been my grandmother’s friend for over three decades. Surely if I was stuck here she would check in on grandma. She would –

‘… so wet. I can turn my back.’

I blinked at him, the panic that had gripped me letting up just a tiny bit as I saw the concern in his eyes.

‘What?’

‘I said, it probably won’t help to put it on over clothes that are already so wet. I can turn my back.’ He nodded to indicate the sweater I still held dumbly.

‘Oh! Right. Thank you. You really don’t have to.’ I tried to hand it back. He laughed at me.

‘Clover, I hate to break the news to you but your teeth are chattering so hard and loud they’re rivalling a marching band.’

I glanced down at my drenched white blouse. The dove-grey silk camisole beneath it was pretty much visible now, it was so wet. And nipples. Dear Lord, they were so hard and pointed they tented my blouse in a very unprofessional way. As if I could do anything about them. It was something my mother had always said: nature is what she is. No changing her. In the rules of nature, it was cold so my nipples were hard.

I laughed somewhat hysterically at my mental tangent and looked up to find him watching me as I studied my own traitorous chest.

‘Will you?’ I said. My voice sounded shy and awkward. Yet another thing to be mortified about.

He smiled once more and said, ‘Of course.’ Then he turned his back to me and I turned mine to him.

My fingers didn’t want to work the tiny white buttons of my blouse. Cold and wet from our foray outside, brief though it was, they stumbled over the small plastic discs. After only two, I gave up and yanked the blouse over my head. I shivered as the cold seeped into my bones. Something else banged and I let out a little cry. Embarrassing as it was, the sudden intensity of the storm frightened me. Having had a childhood that involved a particularly rattling event, I was on edge in any situation where I felt I was not in control. Loud noises made it worse. All those memories and sensations tried to swell up in me and I quickly tamped them down.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him turn and glance at me, obviously concerned about the noise I’d made, then he caught himself – probably upon seeing me in nothing but a soaking wet camisole. ‘Jesus, sorry,’ he said. ‘I just –’

‘It’s OK,’ I said, biting my tongue to try and keep my teeth from rattling. ‘It’s OK,’ I repeated and yanked the sopping wet cami off over my head. My hair probably looked like the Bride of Frankenstein but now was not the time for vanity.

My nipples pebbled harder and my breasts followed suit by rushing with goose bumps. Another deep shiver worked through me and finally I managed to tug his huge warm sweater down over my damp skin. I let out an audible sigh.

‘I’m done,’ I said. ‘Thank you. You can turn around.’

When I turned to look at him he was staring at the small pile of my wet clothes, the cami conspicuously on top. He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled. ‘Yeah. Let’s get you some clothes, Clover,’ he said.

‘I have … you gave me this,’ I finished weakly as another series of shivers racked my body.

‘But your skirt is wet …’ He swallowed, looking as if he was almost as uncomfortable as me. ‘And your stockings.’

When he said stockings I felt myself blush. At least the involuntary reaction left me warmer.

‘I’ll be fine. Plus, how the heck would we get anything? Everything is shut up tight.’

He grinned at me, the sudden change in expression making him look like a mischievous boy. ‘Oh, the perks of being the boss.’ He extracted a well-worn leather wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper and shook it at me. ‘The security code for every store in the place. Bradley insisted I have it. “Just in case.” God bless his OCD-riddled little heart. You need some jeans. Socks. Maybe boots. On me. It’s the least I can do.’

‘So, we’re trapped here for a super-storm and you’re going to take me shopping?’

‘We have to do something to pass the time.’ When he said that, his eyes went back to the small pile of my wet clothes. His gaze on my unmentionables had me suddenly and inexplicably wishing he would touch me. I thought of the furniture store another hallway over. Right now on display was a magnificent queen-sized bed done up in so-simple-it-had-to-cost-a-fortune white bedding.

‘Right,’ I said. I cleared my throat. ‘Where to?’

‘First jeans, so that would be …’ He waited, watching me.

‘I guess the women’s store near the entrance. What’s it called?’ I snapped my fingers.

‘Her, I think.’ He winked. ‘Extremely clever.’

‘I think what’s in right now is so starkly plain they can charge a fortune for it. So if a store is named Her, all the hers will go there?’ I shrugged.

He brushed a stray hair out of my face and I froze.

‘I think you’re probably right, Clover.’ His gaze never wavered. He just watched me as I floundered inside, trying to remain calm and not do anything stupid. Like step back wildly. Or that insane laugh I tended to bark out when I was nervous. ‘You’re very clever.’

‘I’m glad someone thinks so.’

He frowned briefly at my self-deprecating humour and then took my hand and tugged me along. But only for a moment. Then he dropped it as if remembering his manners. I missed the touch when it was gone. But this wasn’t high school and we weren’t going steady. This was a super-storm and he was my boss. I’d do well to remember that.

* * *

He punched the code in at Her and then bent to roll up the slatted door. Inside to the left was the light switch and he flicked it. The store lit up, looking strangely apocalyptic with all the brightly coloured folded clothes, and fancy mannequins in ensembles and glitzy costume jewellery, but backlit with a dark mall and the sound of an end-of-days kind of wind outside.

‘It’s like the end of the world,’ I whispered.

Dorian nodded, dropping into an overstuffed black chair obviously there for waiting boyfriends and spouses. ‘I know. It’s all a little unnerving. Maybe it will blow over fast and we can go.’

Another bang outside made me jump and then, when I held my breath and listened, there was a riot of sirens out there. ‘How long is it supposed to last? Not to sound like an idiot, but to be honest, I haven’t really been paying attention.’ I swallowed hard around a sudden rush of fear. ‘I thought they were hyping it up. I didn’t expect … this.’

‘Me neither. I wonder if it’ll really last for two days.’

Two days? I said nothing.

‘Now, why don’t you find some jeans and socks, because your knees are knocking.’

I looked down to see he was right. ‘Sure. I’ll be fast.’

‘Take your time, Clover. Pick out what you want. It’s not like we have anywhere to be.’

My emotions were split when he said that. Part of me seriously concerned about being trapped here. Part of me oddly excited about being trapped here with Dorian.

‘At least the power only flickered briefly,’ I said.

‘So far,’ he said. I must have made a face because after glancing at me he said, ‘Sorry. Look, Clover, I’m sure it will be fine. I promise you we will be fine. We’re in this together.’

Had a man ever said that to me? Oh, I remembered – no. Never.