Page 30 of A Guardian for Christmas
“You should go,” I say.
“I’m staying with you, dummy.”
This breaks me out of my funk, and I laugh wetly, wiping away my stupid tears.
“You are?”
“Yeah. But we should just go back to my house where it’s warm.” He holds out his hand and helps me up from the chaise.
Oh boy, this is where I’m going to start being a handful. Watch him walk out the door.
“The thing is, I won’t be able to sleep if I leave this house. I have a hard enough time getting to sleep as it is, and I have a whole routine.”
“Whatever you need to do is fine. If you want to stay, we stay. I don’t have to go back to the shop until next week.”
I don’t know anything about business, but that seems like an extreme amount of time to close down, and I suspect he might be exaggerating to make me feel less guilty about taking up so much of his time.
“I don’t have any pajamas for you, but I might be able to find something in the guest quarters.”
He scoffs. “I sleep naked.”
“Oh. Oh…”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
“Problem? Not for me,” I say, unable to hide my blushing.
“Seems like it is. I can sleep on the sofa.”
“Don’t even start that with me. We are way beyond being polite,” I say. “But there’s something else I need to warn you about.”
“What is it?” Sagan asks, combing his fingers through my hair.
“I want to know if you see them too.”
“See what?”
“Remember what I told you when we met? About the weird shit that happens here?”
He nods. “You want to know if I see the ghosts, too.”
“You definitely must think I’m crazy now.”
“You know how I feel about that word, Esme. Now, time for bed.”
What they say is correct about getting naked under a blanket being the most effective way to share body heat. A naked Sagan throws off a lot of heat.
Sagan draws me in close, his arm around my shoulders. The tops of my feet press against his tree-trunk thigh, basking in his warmth.
“We need to get that damn fireplace fixed.”
I chuckle and tease him. “So, get right on that, chimney repairman.”
He laughs, and I take that opportunity to reach for his other hand and brazenly place it on my breast.
Sagan groans, low and filthy, which makes my body tighten in response.
“I don’t want to get your heart rate up,” he says.