Mr. August by Jan Romes Read Free Book Online Page A

up. “I’ll be right back.” Libby tore up the stairs to the loft. In one fluid yank, she had the comforter, fuzzy blanket, flat and fitted sheets off the bed. She was down the stairs just as quick.
    Libby wrapped Max in a cocoon of bedding, pushed the loveseat as close to the fireplace as she could and guided him onto it. She raced to dial the thermostat to the highest setting.
    Rory whimpered like he knew he’d caused this. Libby scratched him behind the ears. “He’ll be okay, boy.” At least she hoped he would be. She placed Rory on Max’s lap. “You two get warm. I’ll make some tea.” Libby shivered, realizing that she was soaked to the gills too.
    Max was deathly quiet and he appeared confused. Hypothermia was a body’s inability to warm itself. And some of the symptoms were shivering and disorientation. Shit. Shit. Shit . She kept her eyes glued to him while filling a kettle with water.
    While waiting for the water to boil she knelt in front of Max. “I know you’re not in the mood to talk, but you have to.” If he didn’t, she was calling the emergency squad. She moved a lock of damp hair from his forehead. “This sucks, doesn’t it?”
    His lips quivered, a clear sign he was still cold to the bone. He managed a weak, “U-Understatement.”
    Libby remembered reading an article a while back about hypothermia, but the information was now tucked away in the archives of her brain. Think. She puffed out a breath of air. There was something in the piece about re-warming a person with body-to-body warmth. Ugh! Was she going to have to get naked and lay against Max to warm him? Yes. Yes she was. She swore without making a sound.
    Libby stood up, tossed her coat on the counter and began to peel away layers of damp clothing. Her lacy boy-cut underwear was only slightly damp so she left them on. She stood before Max with her arms splayed across her breasts, probably blushing in places that weren’t prone to blushing.
    Max’s blue eyes rounded with surprise. Hers had to be the size of silver dollars.
    “Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures.” Libby lifted the blankets and snuggled against him.
    Max drew away liked she’d stuck him with a red-hot poker. “Not necessary,” he said quite succinctly despite his clattering teeth. “I’ll be fine.” He sneezed and huddled deeper into the blankets.
    Libby burned with mortification. “You let me step out of my clothes and burrow under the covers.”
    Uncertainty etched his expression. “I didn’t know what you were doing.”
    The whistle of the teapot cut into the awkwardness.
    Libby’s emotions were raw. She wanted to clobber him, hug him, and cry at the same time. “Regardless, y-you could have stopped me.” Libby started to stammer and the heat of embarrassment warmed her right away. She slid out of the covers feeling like a giant fool. The teapot continued its annoying call for attention. She stomped to the stove, turned off the burner and fled to the loft, taking the steps three at a time.
    As much as she hated to admit it, Max was right. She hadn’t told him what she was up to. For all he knew, she was a nut job or someone who would take advantage of the situation. Libby pulled on a pair of ragged jeans and a white turtleneck sweater, and topped it with an Ohio State hoodie.
    She had to coax herself to go back downstairs.
    She made two cups of tea and tried to carry them to the lamp table without spilling them, but her hands shook so bad tea sloshed over the sides. Tears burned behind her eyes that had nothing to do with the pain from scalding hot tea. She would not cry. She’d already stripped in front of Max; she sure as hell didn’t want to cry in front of him too.
    Libby handed him a cup without looking at him. “It has antioxidants to keep you from getting sick.”
    “Libby,” Max started to say, but Libby put her palm up to stop him. She’d been an idiot and couldn’t bear to hear him confirm it or try to smooth things