“Considering the way the weather was blowing out there, that’s probably a blessing about now.” He watched her back for a moment. The tunic reached well below her hips, and though he’d always had the impression of her being very tall, he knew that it was merely the way she carried herself. Not that she was short, but he had her by a good seven or eight inches. And there, in that tunic and pants, her feet bare, she seemed much less Wonder Woman than usual.
Vulnerable. That was the word.
She looked vulnerable.
It wasn’t necessarily a comfortable realization.
“You claustrophobic?”
She stiffened and shot him a suspicious look. “Why?”
“Just curious.” Though the walls in the room were probably going to feel mighty closed in the longer they were confined together with that single, narrow bed.
Her hands rubbed up and down her arms. “The electricity here would be from a generator, wouldn’t it?”
“I’d think so, though that doesn’t explain why it’s not running. Maybe they’ve got concerns with the gas it would take. Why? You cold?”
“Some. You, um, you suppose there’s plumbing here?”
He hid a smile. The convent was cloistered, and located in a highly remote location. But it wasn’t entirely out of the middle ages. “This is built like a dorm,” he said. “I saw the bathroom a floor down.”
She dropped her arms, casting him a relieved look. “You did?”
“Probably better facilities here than you had in that hut at Puerto Grande.” He reached for the door. “After you, my darling wife.”
When they got to the bathroom door, Brody stopped. “Place is built for women,” he reminded her. “You’d better go first. Make sure I don’t send some poor nun into heart failure.”
“I won’t be long.” She ducked inside.
In his experience, women were forever finding reasons to spend extra time in the bathroom. Lord only knew what they did in there.
But she did open the door again, almost immediately. “All clear.” She slipped past him back into the corridor and he went inside.
The halls were still silent when they made their way back up the narrow staircase and to the room. They passed a half-dozen other doors as they went. All closed.
“Where do you suppose the children are?”
He wished that he had a good answer. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
“I don’t understand why you’re still feeling so awfully patient, considering your hurry to get up here.”
“Honey, I’m not patient. But I am practical.”
She stopped. “What’s so practical about getting all the way here, with no means of getting back out of here?”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” He caught a glimpse of swishing black fabric from the corner of his eye.
“Bro—”
He pulled Angeline to him and planted his mouth over hers, cutting off his name.
She gave out a shocked squeak and went ramrod stiff. Her hands found their way to his chest, pushing, and he closed his hands around hers, squeezing them in warning.
She went suddenly soft, and instead of fighting him, she kissed him back.
It took more than a little effort for him to remember the kiss was only for the benefit of the nun, and damned if he didn’t feel a few bubbles off center when he managed to drag his mouth from those delectably soft lips and give the sister—Sister Frances, in fact—an embarrassed, Hewitt-type apology.
She tilted her head slightly. “The sacrament of marriage is a blessing, señor. There is no need for apology.” Her smile took in them both. “You will be comfortable for the night? Is there anything else we can provide for you?”
He kept his hands around Angeline’s. “A visit with our children would be nice.”
“I’m sorry. The Reverend Mother must return first.”
Angeline tugged her hands out of his. “We understand, Sister. But won’t you tell them that we’re here for them? That we’ll be going home just as soon as we can?”
“Of course, señora. They will be delighted.” She gave them a kind look. “Rest well. The storm will hopefully have passed by morning and Mother will be able to return.” She headed down the hall toward the staircase.
Brody tugged Angeline back into their room and closed the door.
The second he did, she turned on him. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Do what?”
Her lips parted. She practically sputtered before any actual words came out. “Kiss me.”
He slid his hand over her shoulder and lowered his head. “Whatever you say, honey.”
She shoved at him, and he stepped back, chuckling. “Relax, Sophia. We have the nun’s blessing, remember?”
“Very funny.” She put as much distance between them as the small room afforded. “I’m not going to have to remind you that no means no, am I?”
He started to laugh, but realized that she was serious. “Lighten up. If I ever get serious about getting you in the sack, you’ll know.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Usually,” he agreed. He yanked back the cover on the bed, and saw the way she tensed. “And you’re acting like some vestal virgin. Relax. You might be the stuff of countless dreams, but I do have some control.”
Her cheeks weren’t just dusky rose now. They were positively red. And her snapping gaze wouldn’t meet his as she leaned past him and snatched one of the thin pillows off the mattress. “If you were a gentleman, you’d take the floor.”
“Babe, I’ll be the first one to tell you that I am not a gentleman.”
“Fine.” She tossed the pillow on the floor, and gathered up the top cover from the bed. She flipped it out on the slate by the pillow, and sat down on one edge, drawing the other side over her as she lay down, back toward him.
“You’re really going to sleep on the floor.”
She twitched the cover up over her shoulder. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud. “If I needed a shower despite the one that Mother Nature gave us that badly, you could have just told me.”
She didn’t respond.
He looked at the bed. A thin beige blanket covered the mattress. The remaining pillow looked even thinner and more Spartan now that its mate was tucked between Angeline’s dark head and the cold hard floor.
Brody muttered a mild oath—they were in a convent, after all, and even he didn’t believe in taunting fate quite that much—and grabbed the pillow and blanket from the bed and tossed them down on the ground.
She twisted her head around. “What are you doing now?”
“Evidently being shamed into sleeping on this godforsa—blessed floor.” He flipped out the blanket and lowered himself onto it. Sad to say, but nearly every muscle inside him protested the motion. He was in pretty decent shape, but climbing the mountain hadn’t exactly been a picnic.
“You don’t have any shame,” she countered.
He made a point of turning his back on her as he lay down, scrunching the pillow beneath his head. The area of floor was significantly narrow, but not so