Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“We’re almost there,” he said. “Just hold on.”
Then he cut the headlights.
She flinched. The dark closed in like a sealed room. Rain drilled the metal roof, and nothing but black lay ahead. “What in the world are you doing turning off the lights? There’s a storm out there.”
“I know the way and want to make sure we’re not followed.”
She stared at the windshield. No road, no lights, just movement and shape. “You can see in this?”
“My vision’s better than most.”
She turned toward him, her heartbeat echoing in her head. “Better naturally, or did the military give you something new?”
Even in the dark, she caught the edge of a smile. Barely there. “I just have good eyesight, and I know this road. Just relax and enjoy the silence.”
Was that a hint for her to shut up? “Why’d you turn off the lights?”
“Just in case. I don’t feel anyone out there. No sign we were followed. But nobody knows this mountain like I do.”
Probably true. She didn’t question that part.
He moved through sharp turns with no warning, no corrections. She tried to anticipate them but couldn’t. She gripped her knee instead of the door. The movement of the SUV felt more intimate without light—closer, quieter, full of tension she didn’t want to name.
Eventually, he pulled under a dense wall of trees and cut the engine.
She didn’t speak. The storm didn’t allow for silence, and yet, the world seemed too quiet. Somehow.
He stepped out and softly shut his door.
She followed into the cool air. Rain caught her neck and slid down her spine. She shut the door and laid her hand on the hood, trailing her fingers to the front to orient herself. “Where are we?” Wind shoved her hair forward.
“This way,” he said.
She hadn’t seen him approach. He just appeared close enough that she felt him before she saw him. His hand found hers.
Warm. Rough. Intentional.
Not threatening. But heat spiraled and landed in her abdomen anyway.
His grip stayed firm as he led her into the storm. Her steps followed, automatic, through soaked grass or gravel. She couldn’t tell. Then the boards underfoot changed everything.
A porch.
He let go of her hand.
She didn’t move right away.
“Step up,” he said.
She walked up three stairs, her boots hitting wet wood. Then he opened the door, and she slowly followed him inside. The scent hit first—cedar, fresh rain, and Christian Osprey. Earth and heat and something that lived in the wild.
He shut the door behind her, bolted it, and flicked on the light.
An overhead light warmed a small cabin somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A bed sat against the far wall. Straight ahead appeared a bathroom and to its right, a narrow kitchenette. Between the kitchen and bed, a worn leather chair and sofa faced a small TV on a shelf next to a stone fireplace. The other wall was all windows. Big enough to jump out. Egress? Definitely.
She frowned. “What is this place?”
“It’s mine,” he said. “I built it. I come here once in a while if the weather turns bad, or if I’m not staying with one of my brothers.”
She looked around. This was a freaking surprise. “You built a cabin?”
“Yeah.” He crossed the room to the fireplace. He knelt and lit the logs already stacked in place. “Nobody knows it exists, so you’re safe here.”
She gulped. The air was warm, but her skin buzzed. “Your brothers don’t know?”
“Nope.”
Wow. That made her one of one person. She didn’t want to feel special about that, but she did. Not that it changed anything. “I can’t just stay out here with you, Christian.”
“I know. But I need sleep, and I can’t watch your place all night. So we’re staying here.”
The sofa didn’t look long enough for him to stretch out. The bed was big—king-sized, and definitely built for someone his height. Right now, she was just too tired to argue with him. “All right. I’ll take the sofa.”
“Nope. You’re taking the bed.”
Her head jerked up. “I’m not sleeping in your bed while you sleep on that sofa. You don’t fit.”
He didn’t argue. “We’ll share the bed, then. I won’t touch you. I promise.”
Something about the way he said it landed wrong. Yeah, that hurt a little. “Fine.”
“Poaching’s never been my thing.”
“Poaching?”
He looked over his shoulder. “You’re engaged.”
Right. That.
The ring stayed behind at the bar because she took it off to work. Though she always meant to put it back on, she usually forgot.
“You’re still soaking wet.” He looked her over. “You need something warm.” There was one small dresser by the bed, and he opened the drawers, pulling out a faded black T-shirt and thick gray socks before turning and tossing them to her. “The bathroom's well stocked. Use whatever you need.”
Almost in a dream, she caught the clothes and then walked into the bathroom, shutting the door. Well stocked may have been an overstatement. The small room held a shower, toilet, and sink in a small cabinet.