Goodie frowned up at him, desperate yet again to move away but frozen in place by her pride. However, she did allow herself to rest her hand on Salem’s head to combat her stress at having Nick this close again, but removed it quickly when she saw Nick glance at what she was doing; judging by his expression he knew exactly what it meant – what it revealed.
‘I had to take the dogs out,’ she told him, annoyed that she had to tilt her head back to look straight into his eyes. Goodie was not tall but normally a man’s height did not intimidate her, she could easily best those twice her size; but there was something about the physical differences between her and Nick which made her feel out of control.
Deciding that she didn’t care anymore what kind of weakness it revealed, and that she could not be this close to him for a second longer, she took a step to the side. To her annoyance he mirrored her movements, continuing to block her path to the back door.
‘Then you open the goddamn back door,’ he told her slowly, as if she were a wilful and stupid child, ‘you let the dogs out and you find some goddamn shoes, preferably a coat, and then you go outside.’ Goodie dropped her eyes to Nick’s torso, which was clad in only a T-shirt, and then down to his sock-covered feet. When she looked back up at him her eyebrows were raised and her mouth was hitched up at the side in a half smile.
Nick was distracted by her mouth for a moment, then shook his head to clear it as she took another step to the side, which he mirrored again. He glanced down at her bare feet one last time, noting their bluish tinge, and decided to risk life and limb by reaching out and putting his hands on her hips to lift her straight up in the air and walk her back to the house.
*****
Goodie’s breath caught in her throat at the feel of his large hands on her hips, and then she stopped breathing altogether as he lifted her and carried her inside. Her normal reaction to anyone moving her somewhere she did not want to go would have been to take them down, and to make it so they stayed the fuck down in a way that would ensure they never even considered laying hands on her again. But with Nick … she couldn’t explain it but the concern on his face as her stared at her feet, combined with how glorious he looked with slightly mussed hair from sleep, thick stubble on his jaw and his T-shirt stretched tightly across his chest, had scrambled her brain. So instead of causing bodily harm she allowed him to carry her right into the house, through the boot room and into the kitchen. He placed her gently back on her feet by the kitchen table and started rummaging in the cupboards until he found a large washing-up bowl and began filling it up with water.
She watched him, too curious to see what he was going to do next to say anything. He walked back to her, put the bowl down on the kitchen table, and then got in her space again, this time with his hands to her shoulders to shuffle her back to the nearest chair and push her down to sit. For some reason she allowed this as well. He took the bowl, placed it on the floor in front of her, methodically folded up her trousers, lifted her feet, and put them in the water. Goodie hadn’t actually noticed how cold her feet were until the warm water sent sharp tingles of feeling back into them. She opened her mouth to speak but snapped her lips shut when Nick came into the kitchen grappling the ridiculously huge duvet through from the boot-room door, and then wrapping it around Goodie and the chair she was sitting in so it was pulled right up to her chin. Goodie blinked up at him, now looming over her with his hands on his hips and a face like thunder.
She felt it building and pressed her lips together to try to suppress it, but the sheer insanity of the situation meant she couldn’t physically hold it in. Her face broke into a smile and she started laughing. The fact that this beautiful man should be so concerned about her being out in her bare feet on frost-covered ground for less than twenty minutes, when she had regularly endured sub-zero temperatures since childhood, often with no food in her stomach, and certainly with nobody who gave enough of a shit about her to help her warm up when she came in from the cold, was bizarre.
‘I think,’ she managed to get out through her laughter, ‘I think my toes were safe this time. This level of re-warming might be overkill.’ He was staring down at her still, but instead of the scowl he had been directing at her, his features had softened and the edges of his lips tipped up in a small smile.
‘Christ,’ he breathed, dropping down to his knees in front of her and then shocking her out of her hilarity when he cupped her face in his hands. His eyes were searching hers and the look in his was almost reverent when he said: ‘You are so goddamn beautiful it’s almost painful to be near you.’
Goodie’s stomach hollowed out and her breathing sped up. Memories of milk and biscuits, him pulling back last night, him sleeping on the floor with her and holding her, his expression when he saw her bare feet on the frost, all of it flooded her mind and she lost it. Pushing the duvet away, she surged forward to dig both her hands into his hair and she kissed him. Really kissed him. No meditation, no pretence; just her and him. After a moment he pulled away. She gave a small moan of protest and tried to tug him back to her, but he took some time to scan her face.
‘You’re with me this time, aren’t you?’ he whispered. She closed her eyes slowly and summoned all the courage she could to let her armour crack and to allow him in.
‘Yes,’ she whispered back, opening her eyes to meet his. ‘I’m here, I’m with you.’ And his mouth crashed back down on hers, pushing her back into the chair.
‘What th –’ The spell was broken as Bertie’s voice cut through the silence and they pulled apart. ‘… Oh. Ah … right. Gosh … terribly sorry, folks. Didn’t think to knock on the kitchen door, to be honest. No, no please … you carry on with whatever … well, I’ll just jog on down to the … um …’
‘Bertie, is fine,’ Goodie managed to get out, pushing the duvet off her shoulders and lifting her feet from the water. Nick moved back reluctantly as she stood up. He was scowling fiercely at Bertie and then at Goodie as she nipped around him, whistled for Salem to follow her, and left the kitchen with her dog padding silently after her.
‘Bert, mate,’ Nick said through gritted teeth, ‘You know I love you but sometimes … sometimes I could happily strangle you to death.’
‘Ha-ha!’ Bertie laughed, striding over to Nick and giving him an extremely ill advised, given his mood, pat on the back. ‘Always the joker.’
‘Bert –’
‘I don’t want to assume anything, old boy,’ Bertie carried on, his tone now less jovial, ‘but from what I saw I’m guessing there may be some shenanigans afoot between you and Miss Goodie, of possibly … well –’ Bertie’s face was bright red now as he fumbled with the kettle in an attempt to get the lid off to fill it up ‘– of the bedroom variety,’ he continued in a whisper, and Nick looked up at the ceiling in despair at the situation he had found himself in. ‘I just … well, I …’ Bertie had now abandoned his kettle-filling attempts to puff up his chest as best he could and cross his arms over it, his face burning red again. ‘Well, she seems a damn decent sort … bit on the quiet and … well, slightly violent side, but I’d hate to think that she … that you …’ Bertie trailed off, his chest deflating and his brows drawing together. Nick’s furious expression softened and he smiled at the thought of Goodie’s reaction to Bertie defending her honour.
‘She can look after herself, mate, I promise you,’ Nick said with conviction, the memory of last night’s knife incident coming to mind. Bertie uncrossed his arms and walked over to the kitchen table where Nick was still standing until he was directly in front of him and staring straight into his eyes.
‘I know it looks that way, old chap,’ Bertie said softly. ‘But I get the feeling that she’s a damn sight more fragile than you think. All I’m asking is that you’re careful. She’s saved your life; don’t bugger hers up.’
Nick stared at him a beat, thinking that underneath all that bluster and ridiculousness Bertie might actually be one of the wisest men he knew. He reached up and gave Bertie’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘You’re a good bloke, do you know that, Bertie?’ Bertie smiled and clapped Nick on the shoulder again before he turned to resume his attempts at opening up the kettle – an activity that made Nick immediately question the whole wise thing.
‘Now, now, Bertie,’ Mrs B. said as she bustled into the kitchen and rounded the counter to gently extract the still-closed kettle from his hands. ‘You know better than to go fiddling with the kitchen appliances – always gets you in a right muddle. Sit yourself down and I’ll bring you your tea.
‘Mrs B., you are a most excellent woman,’ Bertie boomed, kissing her on the cheek and backing off from the kettle to take a seat at the breakfast bar. He winked at Nick, who thought of all the times Bertie had managed to weasel out of making his own tea, and just like that Nick was back to thinking Bertie a genius.
