When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9)(31)

“What kind of idiot would use a lock like this on a balcony door?”

“They’re your friends, not mine.”

He felt above the door frame. “See if you can find an extra key anyplace out here.”

There was no furniture, nowhere to really look, but she poked around anyway. “Nothing. Why didn’t we bring our phones? We should have brought Paisley.”

“Depressing thought.” He abandoned his fruitless search above the door and reached for his boxers. “I don’t suppose any of those classes you take taught you how to pick a lock?”

“Lock-picking isn’t a requirement for grand opera, but I can order dessert in seven languages.”

“Currently useless, but still impressive. We’ll find another way in.”

“It’s freezing!” Like any serious opera singer, she religiously guarded herself against chills with scarves around her throat, herbal teas, and vitamin supplements, yet here she was.

“Get back in the water.”

As cold as she was, she couldn’t stay in the water while he set out alone trying to rescue them. She was better than that. Shivering, she followed him down the single set of stairs to the frozen ground. The motion-activated security lights came on. She wrapped the wet towel tighter, but it was useless for anything except modesty. “You didn’t leave the keys in the car by any chance?” she asked. “Stupid question. None of us who live in Chicago leave keys in our cars.”

They moved toward the front of the house. He craned his neck to look up at the windows. Her teeth were chattering so loudly that he heard them. “There’s no reason for both of us to be freezing our asses off. Get back in the water.”

“And have you take all the credit for rescuing us? No way. Besides, I can tolerate cold better than you.”

“I’m a trained athlete. How do you figure that?”

“I have more body fat.”

His gaze moved from the second-story windows down to her chest. “In all the right places.”

“Seriously?” Her towel had indeed slipped, and she jerked it back up. “We’re about to die from hypothermia, and you’re looking at my breasts?”

“You’re the one who brought them up.”

If she hadn’t been so cold, she would have laughed. Instead, she adopted some fake outrage. “As soon as this tour is over, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Doubtful.”

“You’re not that irresistible.”

“Up for debate.”

He was irresistible. To any woman who didn’t possess an iron will.

They rounded the corner to the front of the house. Her flip-flops kept sinking into the snow, her toes had gone numb, and they were both covered with goose bumps. “How l-long . . . do you think before we d-die?”

“I don’t know. Five minutes?”

“You don’t know that!”

“Of course I don’t know that! And w-we aren’t going to die. The hot tub, remember?” He jiggled the front doorknob, but it, too, was locked.

Her teeth were rattling so hard her jaw hurt. “We . . . c-can’t stay in the water f-forever.”

His teeth had also begun to chatter. “Henri’ll come looking for us when we don’t show up.”

“We c-can’t stay in the hot tub all night.”

He gave her a level-eyed look that told her she might be acting like a brainless heroine from a 1950s rom-com instead of a woman who commanded center stage. She pulled herself together. “We’re going to . . . b-break a window.”

“Now there’s an idea.” He was already heading for the far side of the house.

“You don’t need to be . . . s-s-s-arcastic.” Her damp towel had stiffened, beginning to freeze. “Oh, God, I’m cold.”

He stopped walking and pulled her into his arms. “Body heat transfer.”

Neither of them had much body heat, but it still felt good. Her cold cheek against the side of his cold neck. His arms encircling her. Their thighs pressed together.

She felt a bulge press against her and drew back.

He grinned through his chattering teeth. “I’m not apologizing. It’s good to know I still have some decent blood flow.”

She wanted to go right back into his arms, but she widened the distance between them.

It had started to snow. One flake. Another. They landed in his hair, on her shoulders. Because of the design of the house, the front and side windows rose too high above the ground for easy access. They headed toward the rear of the house.

She might have a higher proportion of body fat, but he was accustomed to physical discomfort, and he moved more gracefully. In the reflection from the security lights, she saw that his lips were beginning to turn blue. Her fingers had cramped so painfully she lost her grip on the frozen towel and it fell. He stumbled on a patch of frozen ground. “Jesus, Liv . . .”

He said it like a prayer, and for a moment she forgot the cold. But only for a moment. “Don’t be a j-j-jerk.”

He raised his arms in mock surrender and turned toward the back door. It had glass panes, and while she looked in the snow patches for a rock to break the glass, he tried to see through it. “There’s a dead bolt that needs a key. I’m going to have to kick the door in.”