Are you a book reviewer?
He shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”
I pushed his arm off my thighs. “You’re an ass.”
“Yep,” he said with a nod. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling at the pride he found in his flawed personality. Wrapping his arms around his bent knees, he stared at me, like he was gathering information for his next move. I held my ground—no smiling—though barely. After a long minute, he finally said, “You’re cold.”
I glanced down at my hands, which were a pale shade of violet and reflexively quivering against each other to get warm. My body flinched when Jake took them between his, pressing them together and then making a hollow between his palms. He brought our hands to his lips and exhaled softly into the space between his thumbs, creating a small cave of warmth for my fingers. I swallowed past my suddenly dry throat at the cozy shivers racing up my arms.
Jake’s dark eyes raised to mine, making me suddenly aware of the terror that was probably plain on my face. Parted lips, wide eyes, and my breath that had halted some time ago. Why was he touching me? What did he want from me?
Why did I feel good when he touched me?
It wasn’t supposed to feel good, right? I shouldn’t like the feel of his skin on mine. Men only touched to hurt. I shouldn’t want that.
But when he said, “You might be warmer if we sat together,” I nodded and stood, moving so he could take my chair, so I could curl up in his lap.
Huddling my arms against my chest, I rested my head on his shoulder. My eyes shut cautiously so I could take in the scent of his skin. He wrapped his coat over my back before relaxing his cheek into my hair. I kept my eyes closed, half from fear, half from the desperate need to feel what it was like to just be held.
I had felt nothing like it before.