“Well, if there is, I don’t know it. And I’m not standing out in this shit weather trying to break in for you.” Another blast of arctic cold hit us, and she stumbled forward. Her hand grabbed at my chest, and I looked down. Something electric zinged along my body, something hot. It was surprising considering Echo was poison, and I sure as hell didn’t have the antidote. I knew better than to let her get to me.
“I don’t understand.” She glanced up at the darkened house.
“I’m the only one here, and with this storm intensifying, nobody is coming out.”
“You mean I’m stuck here with you?”
“I’d phrase it a little differently.” She’d barged in on me. I was the one inconvenienced.
“You would.”
“Listen, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“Got that right.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but I’d had it. I grabbed her up and slung her over my shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Echo screamed bloody murder, which made me smile. I can’t lie. I was kind of enjoying this. I turned back to my cottage and felt her fists on my back. But it was nothing considering she was cold as hell and was shivering too damn hard to do anything that would hurt.
I reached my place, opened the door, and let her slide from my shoulder. She staggered a bit, her nose so red from the cold, she’d give Rudolph a run for his money. “You’re such an asshole,” she shouted at me. “Who do you… Why are you…” She looked around. “I hate…” Chest heaving, she turned in a full circle, giving me another look at the sweetest body I’d ever had the pleasure of screwing.
“It’s warm in here.” Her voice was small, and a violent shudder shook her body.
“Hold on,” I said gruffly, moving past her. I went into the bedroom and grabbed one of the blankets on the bed. It was huge and thick and should do the trick. I tossed it at her and then headed to the kitchen, doffing my jacket on the way.
“Like, it’s really warm in here,” she said again, barely getting the words past her still-chattering teeth.
“Yeah,” I answered. “I have heat because I’m supposed to be here.” I poured a cup of hot coffee and headed back to her. “You’re not.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, my dad owns this place.”
“And…?”
She took the cup from my hand, eyes flashing as she looked up at me. “I can come here whenever I want.” She shrugged. “I could live here if I wanted to.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because this place isn’t your gig. There are no filters here. Nothing to make the fake-ass life you lead look anything close to real.”
“You don’t know me,” she shot back.
I laughed at that. “Echo, you live on Instagram, and out here, the Wi-Fi works when it wants to.” I shrugged. “You have a selfie addiction that would take you down in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Huh,” she said, taking another sip of coffee. “That’s kind of pathetic.”
“What’s that?” I’d made my own coffee and leaned against the small countertop in the kitchen.
“You following me on Instagram.”
“I don’t.”
Her smiled faded. “Then how—”
“Harmony.”
Her eyes widened and then shuttered, evening out to a murky, cold-as-hell shade of green. “You keep in touch with Harmony?”