Page 102 of Westin

“No,” I say. “It willneverhappen again.”

She purses her mouth, startled by something in my face. Then, she nods.

“I understand,” she whispers.

She wriggles out of my grasp, and I let her go for the price of another kiss. Then, she brings her plate and sits beside me. We eat in silence and have coffee, steam rising from our silent table.

It feels like the beginning of peace.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

DIANE

The snow is so deep, the entire ranch hunkers down to wait it out. That means I’m in Westin’s house, alone with him.

He doesn’t sleep in the bed with me. He stretches his long body out in the chair by the fireplace and closes his eyes. For the first few nights, I wake in a panic, see him in the chair, and my heart slows.

The firelight flickers on his face, and I’m safe again.

For the first time since Nana died, I’m safe.

I’m not sure if it has been a few days or over a week, but one morning, I wake early feeling more normal than I have in months. I shower, using his shampoo because I don’t have any. It’s the cheap kind, from the gas station, but it feels like luxury after what I’ve been using. After I’m dried and in his flannel, I go downstairs.

He only has bacon and eggs in the fridge. I’m learning that Westin doesn’t care for luxuries. As long as it’s functional and neat, he’s pleased.

I put the cast iron pan on the stove and start frying. The house is so quiet. He must have taken Billie with him, because she’s nowhere to be found.

Quietly, I pad back upstairs. In his room, I open the closet.

This is my first look into the little things that make up Westin Quinn. My stomach flips. Everything smells good, like him.

Inside are a half dozen button down shirts, mostly blue, but one green and the other tan. He wears plain dark blue work pants, and it looks like he has one good belt. It hangs on the back of the door, next to a black hat with less wear and tear than the one he uses every day.

There’s a cabinet at the back of the closet. I prop the door open and step inside. My jaw drops.

On one side of the cabinet are several pistols and rifles, all glossy and clean. The other side are…things that make my brows rise to my hairline. A black leather crop that looks like it’s never been touched. The collar he put on me, the one I never had a chance to look at that night. My hand shakes as I pick it up, turning it over in my hands.

Soft black leather. Yellow silk inside.

I turn it over, and heat floods my body.

Diane Quinn.

My heart picks up, going wild. Quickly, I put the collar back in the exact place I found it. There are other items—a jumble of silver, black, and the scent of expensive leather—but I shut the cabinet door fast.

I don’t think I was supposed to see those words.

At least, not yet.

That’s what I get for not minding my own business. I feel like I should be sorry, but I’m not. Instead, I’m warm and restless between my legs.

Maybe I finally feel safe enough for desire again.

I think I hear boots on the walkway outside. I shut the closet door and hurry down the hall. In the kitchen, the bacon is sizzling on low. I run to the cupboard and start taking two mugs out. The doorknob turns, and Westin fills the house with his presence, Billie at his heels.

I turn, offering him a smile. He kicks his boots clean and shuts the door, joining me in the kitchen.

“Come here, darling,” he says.

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