Page 116 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

I wadea little deeper into the riffle, casting as I go, my mind at peace. Snowflakes fall gently from a frozen sky, melting on the water’s surface. Soren Lake Lodge has been closed for months, so I’ve had the creeks all to myself. But they’ll be frozen soon enough.

After the survey camp fire, Bealer-Vollbrecht International silently scuttled the Soren Creek Mine project. The fire lasted almost a week, and when it finally burned itself out, there was nothing left. Hemery Tate is paying for rehabilitation. The land has been scarred, but it will recover.

Dawson and his lawyer spent last week in court breaking his marriage with Brielle. I offered to travel with him to Denver for support, but he didn’t want me caught up in the ugliness. The process has been messy and I think expensive, but the judge sided with Dawson. There are a few more legal hurdles to finalize, but as of last night, he’s officially a free man.

I fish until the rising sun warms my cheeks, then loop back to the trail and hike up to the house, my heart full of gratitude. Dawson will be home in a few hours, and I can hardly believe that promise we made each other months ago to start again is finally here.

We get to build our life together. A new beginning.

I wasn’t sure what would happen with Quinn. I care for him and always will. With a wink, he told me that he’s around if we need him. I think it’s his way of saying he cares for us too.

He and Dawson bought that rental house on the McKenzie, but he’s going to be busy starting his green energy company for use by the Department of Defense to spend much time in Storm Harbor. His first contract is in Norfolk, at the naval shipyard. Each time he calls us, he sounds energized and hopeful.

Zigzagging through the alders, I skirt the meadow, my stomach rumbling. Ahead, the lights from our house send a warm glow through the trees. I step up my pace.

A rush of anticipation shoots down my spine. In a few hours, I’ll be with Dawson.

I enter the house through the mudroom, then store my gear. I’m barely out of my boots when Dawson enters, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. His hair is still damp from a shower, his handsome face freshly shaved.

I race over and he catches me in his arms. “You’re here!”

“I caught the redeye. I couldn’t wait to be home another minute.”

He kisses me in a hungry, firm embrace, his heartbeat thudding against my ribs.

“Catch anything?” he asks with a smile.

“A few,” I say.

“You’d think by now they’d hide the minute you step into the water,” he says, his smile widening. The sunshine coming from the living room illuminates him in a way that sends my heart thumping hard against my chest.

“They try,” I say with a grin.

Dawson strokes down my arm, then kisses me again. The heat in my core spreads outward, banishing the chill I felt on the walk home.

“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” he says, his tongue darting past my lips. We tease each other with little flicks and swirls, making my pulse tap into my temples.

“I’ve been thinking about you since you left,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He lifts me up and carries me to the couch. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

I groan because I know exactly what he has in mind. “I love how you feel against me,” I say. “I love the dirty things you say. The way you make me crazy.”

He strips off his T-shirt, revealing his muscular chest and strong arms—arms that have made me feel safe and cared for. I spot the tattoo that commemorates the woman he loved and lost. It’s a place I have kissed many times, hoping our love can be the final step he needs to heal.

He climbs between my thighs and kisses me again. “I want to taste the river on your skin.” He caresses under my T-shirt. His touch is sensual and tender, like he can read my deepest needs.

I stroke his warm chest to his shoulders, pulling him closer. His kisses turn hungry and urgent, and I let myself get lost in him. Time seems to slow and lengthen, like we’re cradled in our own secret dimension. Despite the frenetic, crazed energy between us, Dawson takes the time to pleasure me slowly until I’m begging for release. With a look of intense desire in his eyes, he pulls me onto his lap, and I sink down so that nothing separates us.

“Lexie,” he whispers as we rock in our slow, sensual rhythm. My climax spirals tighter and tighter until the colors of the room fade and I’ve let go completely. As the sensations peak, Dawson takes me harder, faster, and we both come together, our eyes locked and our hearts wide open. When it’s over, he holds me, caressing my skin.

Dawson cradles my face and kisses me slowly, with such tenderness.

“I love you, Dawson,” I say before I can take it back.

We move to the shower, where we make love again, slower this time, and then he dries me off and carries me to bed. Once we’re under the covers, he caresses the side of my face and kisses me, but he’s trembling.

I get a funny feeling in my chest. “What’s wrong?”

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