Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
There’s no urgency to any of it, only a slow, undeniable pull.
By the third evening, the storm shows no sign of letting up. Snow taps against the windows as the four of us share a hearty stew for dinner. After cleanup, Grizz and Viper disappear down to the ops center, their voices low in discussion about a project for one of Sentinel’s clients.
I sit by the fire and crochet, but after a while, I get restless. My intention is to go upstairs to find a book to read, but instead, I find myself drifting toward Atlas’s side of the hall, giving in to an unrelenting pull.
The door to his bedroom is open, light spilling out. I’ve been in the room before, very briefly, to deliver laundry and to try to find surfaces to clean. The room has always been spotless, and it appears that way tonight.
All of the furniture is solid and functional. The only things on the walls are a topographical map of the area and a small shadowbox containing military insignia. There are flashlights at the ready, on the nightstand and dresser, and an ever-present pair of boots near the door, separate from the ones in the mudroom he usually wears.
Atlas is sitting in a chair, boots off, sleeves pushed up, scanning something on his tablet. When he looks up, his expression softens immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just got a little achy from sitting too long.” As I stand in his doorway, I rub my lower back. The pain is new this week, but has been persistent, probably from my body carrying more weight than it’s used to.
“Would you like a massage?” The word alone sounds like heaven. “I’ve been told I give good ones,” he says.
With hands as strong as his, that’s not a surprise.
“That would be wonderful, but I don’t want to interrupt you.” I gesture to his tablet.
“I could use a break. Here, have a seat.” He gets up and offers me the chair he was sitting in. “Would it be comfortable for you to straddle the chair?”
He takes my hand and supports me as I lower myself into the chair facing the backrest.
“Is that okay?”
“Sure.” I rest my head on folded arms on the back of the chair. The room’s quiet except for the wind outside and the regular rhythm of my breathing, which hitches when his hands settle at my shoulders.
I don’t often feel small, but under Andrew’s big palms, I feel almost delicate. His hands move with tender care, exploratory and respectful, but not so gentle that they’re ineffective. It’s as though he’s listening to my body, rather than imposing anything on it.
“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.
“Amazing.”
“You have some tight spots. I should have been doing this for you sooner.”
“You do plenty for me.”
He murmurs vague disagreement as he eases my tension with his very capable hands. Warmth spreads throughout my body, along with a vibration of restless energy I try to ignore.
“Is it affecting your work, being snowed in like this?” In the month-plus I’ve been staying here, the men have left the compound multiple times, including a trip down into the city, but they’ve never all left at the same time, except for the day we went into Moon Ridge together.
“No. Not really.” He uses his thumbs to press parallel lines from my waist up toward my shoulders.
“That’s good. How’s the project coming for the manufacturing company you told me about?”
“We’re making good progress. Viper’s knee-deep in analysis this week. How’s the baby blanket coming?”
“I had to undo a few rows yesterday for some missed stitches, but I’m back on track today.”
We talk a little more about nothing important, and I find myself leaning into his touch. No matter how I tried to distract myself by asking about his work, I can’t deny what we’re doing right now feels more intimate than a simple treatment for sore muscles.
Somewhere along the way, the conversation fades. Andrew’s hands go still, resting at my waist. I turn my head, aware of how close he is. Close enough to feel his breath on my neck.
“Kira.”
When I meet his eyes, whatever question he’d been about to ask seems unnecessary. The answer is already there.
He kisses me, and this time, there’s no hesitation. My face gently cupped in his hand, he brushes his lips against mine, tender, unhurried. He looks into my eyes again, deeper this time, and I feel completely seen.
Without a word, he crosses the room to close his bedroom door, quietly twisting the lock. He turns the overhead light off, leaving only soft light from his bedside lamp. When he comes back to me, he takes my hand, helps me up from the chair, and leads me toward his bed.
CHAPTER 25
KIRA
His hands frame my face, thumbs sliding gently along my jaw as if he’s memorizing me. He kisses me again, and I’m flooded with an intoxicating rush of desire.