"Now?"
"I want to see where the water's collecting, and how it's getting in." And he'd be taking the equivalent of a cold shower in the process. Exactly what he needed to be able to think straight.
He took the flashlight she handed him and went into the hall. More water dripped out there, and the carpet was soggy underfoot. A door next to the regular stairwell was marked ‘Roof'. When he opened it, he saw another short set of stairs leading up.
"You'll have to wedge the door open," she said from behind him. "Or we'll get stuck up there."
"We?" He turned to see her pulling on a rain jacket.
"I want to take a look too. See how bad it is." She shot him a defiant look. "Unlike you, I actually care about this place."
"You're already shivering." Not that he was complaining about the way her pyjama pants clung to her body, but if she got wet, she'd freeze.
"I'm fine." She ducked back into her apartment and came out with one of her Doc Martin boots, which she wedged into the roof door to hold it open. They climbed the short flight of stairs, and opened the final door onto the roof.
The rain hit them. Icy, heavy drops, that made Lacey shriek and him laugh with the shock. Shit, it was cold out here. At least his arousal problem was solved.
He aimed the flashlight at the tiled roof, squinting to make out where the water might be pooling. He'd had a vague idea that he might be able to rig up a temporary solution to stop the leaks. Maybe a large plastic sheet over the whole lot. But the roof was too big, and it wasn't flat. There were numerous peaks, slopes, and chimneys. Trying to put something over it would be next to impossible, and the rain was coming down so hard now, he couldn't pinpoint any one place it was collecting.
"S-see anything?" asked Lacey, her teeth chattering.
He turned, and the flashlight played over her body. Beneath the little rain jacket, her pyjama pants were turning transparent. She wore nothing underneath.
His breath caught in his throat, and in spite of the freezing rain, his blood flushed hot.
"You're soaked." Stepping to her, he caught her arm. "Come on, before you catch your death."
"Y-you're only in a T-T-shirt." He could barely make out the words, she was shaking so hard.
He hustled her back in the door, and into the hall, slipping his arm around her to give her what warmth his wet body could provide. Though a weak light came from the single, ancient, light fitting, the bulb flickered on and off, buzzing softly. Black mold glistened around the light fitting, and water dripped out of it.
The sooner he could turn this death trap into rubble, the better. But right now, the most important thing was getting Lacey warm. He got her through her front door and into the living room, standing her in front of the dying embers of the fire before easing his hold from her shoulders. "Get those wet clothes off," he told her. "I'll grab a blanket."
He pulled the thick comforter off her bed, and when he brought it to her, she'd taken off her rain jacket and wet glasses. The rain must have run inside her jacket, because her tank top was almost as drenched as her pyjama pants.
Her nipples were so hard, they looked as though they were trying to punch through the slicked-on fabric of her top. When he'd first seen her at his nightclub, he'd noticed how spectacular her breasts were. But now they were practically naked, he realized he'd completely underestimated their beauty. They were the reason artists painted. The reason sculptors carved statues. Hell, they were the reason teenaged boys shut themselves away in their room with vaseline and a box of tissues.
"Wrap this around you." He handed her the comforter, then crouched in front of the fireplace with his back to her, and grabbed some kindling from the pile to stoke up the fire.
The light in the living room flickered, then went out. Now it was dark, except for the glow from the embers.
"The p-power," she said. "It d-d-does that."
"Won't matter once the fire's roaring again."
It took all his strength not to turn around as Lacey's tank top and pyjama pants dropped to the ground. She was close behind him, and after seeing her wet clothing clinging to her, he could picture her naked body clearly enough that he was rock hard. His hands even shook a little as he fed in kindling while blowing on the embers to reignite them. What was wrong with him? His body was reacting like he'd never seen a naked woman before, and technically he hadn't even seen her naked.
When the flames were dancing and bigger pieces of wood starting to catch, he turned to face her. She was swaddled in the comforter, still shaking. Her hair was slicked down around her face, and she looked utterly miserable.
His own T-shirt and jeans were as soaked as her clothes had been, and unpleasantly clammy against his skin. He pulled them off, stripping down to boxer briefs. With the fire going, the room was starting to warm up. The heat of the flames felt good against his chilled skin.
"Come here." Putting his arms around her, he drew her against him, thick comforter and all. He rubbed her back, wanting to get her blood circulating.
"You're c-cold too." She managed a smile. "I'd o-offer you some of my b-blanket, b-but without our c-clothes, things might get h-hotter than they should."
Fuck. So much for his cold shower.
"Heat is what we both need." His voice came out low and husky. His need for her was like an elastic string that had been stretched too tight, and now the slightest touch would make it snap.
She tilted her face to his, utterly beautiful in the firelight, and her lips slowly parted. Perhaps it was innocent. Maybe she was just coming up with a reply. But there was only so much a man could stand.
He found her lips with his, the pressure soft at first, exploring gently. But when he pressed harder, she moved into him, anticipating him. Her hands snaked around his waist and her tongue met his.
She tasted like rainwater, and her lips were cold at first, but they warmed up quickly. She kissed him back hungrily, her body still trembling. Her hair was dripping all over the comforter, and he pushed it back from her face, thinking for just a moment that he should have gotten a towel, before the thought was swept away by more important ones. Like how good she felt, and how he'd wanted to do this from the first moment he'd seen her. And how with her arms around him, there was nothing but the pressure of their bodies together to hold up her blanket.
Sure enough, when he kissed down the soft skin of her throat and their bodies moved apart, the blanket slipped, revealing her glorious breasts.
"Oops," she said, grabbing for it.
"Mmm." He bent to kiss the top of one breast, and her hand stilled in the act of pulling the blanket back up. She sucked in a loud breath as he kissed downward, his tongue finding her nipple. It was rock hard, the surrounding skin puckered from the cold. It needed attention, that was clear. To prevent hypothermia of the nipple, he needed to apply the warmth of his breath, and gentle strokes from his tongue.
"I can't do this," she said, the words almost a gasp. "Bronson you have to stop."
He straightened. "What's wrong?"
The blanket was on the ground, puddled at their feet. She picked it up and covered herself. "We have thousands of people following our bet. If we went any further and they found out, they wouldn't understand."
"Then let's not tell them."
"But that feels dishonest."
He put a hand to her wet hair, pushing it off her face. "It feels like the most honest thing I've done since I got here," he said with absolute sincerity. "I've wanted to make love to you the entire time."
"You have?"
He smiled. "I didn't know I'd made such a secret of it, lovely Lacey."
"Your tweets were just playing to our audience."
"I'd never exaggerate something like that." He ran his hands down her arms. "You still feel cold."
"Getting warmer."
"I'll get another blanket."
He grabbed a towel for her hair while he was at it. They spread one blanket on the ground to sit on, and she stayed wrapped in the other.
Her expression was serious, her brow knitted. "I keep thinking how angry my father would be if he knew I'd kissed you."
"Does it matter?" Easing down next to her, the warmth of the fire felt good on his bare skin.
"Of course it does. He's dying, and I don't want to upset him." The firelight glinted off the wet droplets of water running down her shoulders from her hair.
"Come here. You're dripping." He picked up the towel and used it to rub her hair.
"Hey." She laughed. "I feel like a kid when you do that. Let me."
After a cursory rub, she wrapped the towel around her head like a turban.
"You look like a movie star from the twenties," he told her. "Or like Carmen Miranda."