PART 2:
The temperature had dropped dramatically since I’d arrived that morning. And my thin coat, perfectly adequate for a normal December day, was useless against this. I pulled out my phone to call a car. No service. I tried again. Nothing. The networks must be overloaded with everyone trying to coordinate their New Year’s plans. Fine.
I’d walk to the subway. It was only three blocks except when I reached the station it was closed. Emergency maintenance according to the sign. The next nearest station was 10 blocks north. In this weather in my heels and inadequate coat. I stood there on the corner, snow melting in my hair, running down my neck, soaking through my clothes, and I wanted to scream. This was perfect.
This was exactly how my year should end. Alone and freezing while the rest of the world celebrated. A group of drunk parters stumbled past, laughing, not even seeing me. A taxi splashed through a puddle, soaking my legs with freezing slush before speeding away with its light off. Couples walked by arm in-armm, heads bent together, wrapped in their own warmth.
I started walking. What else could I do? The cold bit through my clothes immediately, turning my fingers numb, making my teeth chatter. Each breath hurt, ice forming in my lungs. But I kept going, one foot in front of the other, because that’s what I always did. I endured. By the time I’d gone five blocks, I couldn’t feel my feet anymore.
My whole body was shaking violently, and my thoughts were getting fuzzy around the edges. I knew distantly that this was bad, that I should find shelter, but everything seemed so far away and difficult. I stumbled, caught myself against a building, left a wet handprint on the expensive stone. How much farther? I couldn’t remember where I was going.
Couldn’t remember why I was out here. Someone bumped into me, sent me sprawling into a snow drift. They didn’t stop. didn’t even slow down. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t work properly. The snow was actually kind of warm now. Comfortable. Maybe if I just rested for a minute. Olivia. The voice cut through the fog in my head. Deep, rough, furious.
I knew that voice. Jesus Christ, Olivia. Strong hands gripped my arms, hauled me up out of the snow. I blinked up into Christian Lombardo’s face and for a second I thought I must be hallucinating. His dark eyes were wild with something I couldn’t identify. His hair disheveled from the wind, snowflakes catching in his dark lashes.
What the hell are you doing out here? His hands moved over me frantically, checking for injuries, his touch burning against my frozen skin. Why aren’t you at the party? Why? He stopped, his jaw clenching so hard I could see the muscle jump. When he looked at me again, there was something terrifying in his expression, not anger at me, something worse.
Who left you out here? His voice was deadly quiet now. Who was supposed to make sure you got home safely? I tried to answer, but my teeth were chattering too hard. I couldn’t make words work. Christian’s face transformed into something I’d never seen before. Pure incandescent rage, but his hands on me remained gentle as he stripped off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders as he pulled me against his chest as he lifted me like I weighed nothing.
“I’ve got you,” he said, and his voice shook. “I’ve got you, Olivia. You’re safe now.” I wanted to tell him I was fine, that I didn’t need saving. But my body betrayed me by burrowing into his warmth, seeking the heat radiating from him like a furnace. He smelled like expensive cologne and smoke and something uniquely him.
And I couldn’t stop myself from pressing closer. My car, he barked at someone I couldn’t see. Now then we were moving. Christian’s long strides eating up the distance, his arms locked around me like he’d fight the winter itself to keep me safe. I felt the blast of heated air as we entered his building, heard the shocked exclamations of the doorman, felt Christian’s growl of not now vibrate through his chest.
The elevator ride up was a blur. Christian didn’t put me down, didn’t loosen his grip. He carried me through the lobby, past the party still raging in his suite, past the shocked faces of his guests, straight into his private quarters. I’d never been in Christian’s personal space before. It was all dark wood and leather, masculine and spare, nothing like the opulent showiness of the rest of the penthouse.
He sat me down on a chair in his bathroom, cranked the shower to hot, then turned back to me with that same terrible expression. We need to warm you up slowly, he said, his hands already working at the buttons of my coat. Can you stand? I nodded. But when I tried, my legs gave out. Christian caught me, lowered me back to the chair with a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.
“I’m calling a doctor,” he said, pulling out his phone. “No.” My voice came out as barely a whisper, but it stopped him. I’m okay, just cold. You’re hypothermic. His tone left no room for argument. You could have died out there, Olivia. Do you understand that? You could have frozen to death while I was. He stopped, his hand clenching around his phone so hard I heard the case crack.
When he looked at me again, I saw guilt in those dark eyes, raw and terrible. This is my fault, he said quietly. I should have made sure you got home safely. I should have noticed you were still in the office. I should have. You didn’t know I was still there, I said, finding my voice. I chose to stay. Why? The question was almost aggressive.
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