Page 11 of Garrett

“Mine,” he says, arms tightening around me possessively.

Outside, the storm rages on. But here in Garrett’s arms, with his marks on my skin and his taste on my lips, I’ve never felt more safe.

Chapter 6

Garrett

Iwake before dawn, as always, but for once I don’t want to move. Rachel’s warm body is curled against mine, her breathing soft and steady.

In the faint pre-dawn light, I study her face - relaxed in sleep, dark lashes against her cheeks, lips slightly parted.

Last night replays in my mind - her gasps, her pleas, the way she came apart under my touch. Mine. The possessive thought surprises me with its intensity.

The main house is mostly done now - foundation solid, roof replaced, electrical updated. Three of the six artist cabins are finished, each with its own character that Rachel insisted on preserving. The other three will be ready before spring, creating the retreat she envisions. Smart business plan, really - artists coming to work in solitude, then showing their pieces in her friend’s gallery in town.

She sees potential in everything - these broken-down cabins, this neglected property, maybe even me. She fought me on every modern upgrade I suggested, somehow winning battles I neverlet anyone else win. Her passion for this place broke through all my practical arguments.

A few more months and the project will be complete. Then I’ll move on to the next job, like always. Never staying too long, never putting down roots. It’s worked for years - rolling into town, fixing what’s broken, and leaving before anything gets complicated.

Except everything about Rachel Winston is complicated. The way she challenges me, matches my stubbornness with her own. How she sees right through my professional distance to the man underneath. The way she’s made this drafty old property feel more like home than anywhere I’ve been.

My fingers trace her spine, feather-light, careful not to wake her. The marks I left on her neck stand out against her pale skin - visible claims that satisfy something primal in me. I should never have let this happen. Should have kept things professional. But watching her sleep in my arms, I know it’s too late. I’m already in deeper than I’ve ever been.

She stirs against me, and I tighten my arm around her waist. Not ready to let her go yet. When she tries to slip away, I pull her back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” My voice is rough from sleep. And from last night’s activities.

She turns in my arms, those green eyes meeting mine. Still heavy with sleep, but sharp enough to make my chest tighten. Dangerous, how much I like seeing her here, in my bed, wearing nothing but marks I left on her skin.

“I should get back to my cabin.” Her voice is husky. “I have work to do.”

“Stay for breakfast.” I trace her cheekbone with my thumb, feeling her lean into my touch. “I make a decent omelet.”

“Just decent?” A hint of that teasing smile I’ve come to crave. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

I roll her beneath me, pinning her with my weight. “I could persuade you with other skills first.”

Her breath catches as I trail kisses down her neck, finding the sensitive spots I discovered last night. When I reach the mark I left on her collarbone, I bite down gently, making her gasp.

“Garrett...” Her fingers thread through my hair.

“Love how you say my name.” I move lower, tasting the soft skin between her breasts. “Especially when you’re begging.”

Her back arches as I take one nipple in my mouth. “I wasn’t begging.”

I lift my head, meeting her defiant gaze. “Not yet.”

Her eyes go soft and dark as I kiss my way back up to her mouth. The morning light catches the amber flecks in her irises, making them glow like embers. I could get lost in those eyes.

“You’re beautiful in the morning,” I murmur against her lips.

“Flatterer.” But she’s smiling.

“Just honest.” I brush my nose against hers. “Stay. Let me make you breakfast.”

She studies my face for a long moment. “What is this, Garrett?”

The question hangs between us, heavy with meaning. I should give her some casual answer, keep things simple. Instead, I find myself saying: “I don’t know. But I’m not ready for it to end.”

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