Page 43 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

Instead, the shake of my head is slow, almost reluctant. A wordless answer. A reckless one. It feels like an admission, a secret spilling out without a single word.

Wyatt’s grin stretches wider. “Good answer.”

Before I can blink, his hands grip my waist, and the world tilts as he hoists me effortlessly over his shoulder. A surprised yelp escapes me, but he just chuckles, his palm smoothing over the back of my thigh like he’s done this a thousand times.

“Guess that means we’re headed inside,” Holt says, his voice laced with amusement as he falls into step behind us.

Wyatt gives my ass a playful slap. “Damn right, we are.”

Chapter 20

Ivy

Ishuffle around the cabin, my feet bare on the cool wood. The plush carpet in the corner tempts me, but I stay on the rugged path, feeling every grain and imperfection. I spilled coffee on my wool socks, so into the dryer they go.

I toss them in and choose what I hope is the right setting, hoping they don’t take forever to dry. My feet are cold.

I’m not exactly hurting for winter gear now—not after Wyatt and Holt helped me pick up a few things last time we went down the mountain. Moisture-wicking underlayers, thermal leggings, heavier sweaters, even a thick coat that actually blocks the wind instead of letting it slice right through me. I have everything I need.

Just not another pair of clean wool socks.

I even have real winter boots now, though I didn’t pick them out myself. Nope. Hank did.

The day after we went to the bar, Hank went out without a word. I was sure he’d been pushed too far and was going down to make sure Mason finished my car as soon as humanly possible.

So, color me surprised when he came back with a pair of boots. Not just any boots—they were sturdy, insulated, and exactly my size.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. Shouldn’t have sent that stupid, warm feeling curling through my body. But it did.

"Morning, CG," Holt's voice rumbles from behind me. I turn to see him leaning against the doorframe, a steaming mug in his hand.

"Morning," I reply, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth without permission. I'm wearing one of his flannel shirts again. It's become a habit. It hangs loose over my pajama shorts, nothing like the carefully curated wardrobe I used to live in.

For the first time in my life, I’ve stopped worrying about appearances. The designer outfits? A thing of the past.

Well…mostly. Everything I own is still designer, but these days, I’m all about comfort. Pajama shorts, oversized flannel shirts stolen from the guys—I’m settling into this life, into this place, feeling more at home than I ever thought I would.

I can’t wait to find my own place out here. A little cabin of my own tucked into the trees. I used to think this was temporary, just a place to ride out the media storm before I went back to my real life. But lately, I’ve been wondering if I want to go back at all.

"Sleep well?" he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Like a rock," I admit. It's true. The nights here are silent, devoid of the constant hum of the city. More than that, I feel at peace. My sleep is no longer filled with restless dreams.

"Good." He nods, eyes scanning the horizon through the window. "You'll need the energy. We've got a lot of ground to cover today."

I glance outside, where the world is painted in shades of frost and shadow. The snow from the last few days lies untouched. I never knew silence had a sound until now.

"Ready when you are," I say, not recognizing my own voice. It's steadier here, more sure than it's ever been.

"Grab your jacket then. It's nippy out there," he chuckles, disappearing back into the hallway.

"I thought you liked me nippy," I tease as I follow, grinning as I reach for his coffee and steal a sip.

Holt throws his head back and laughs, a deep, rolling sound, warm and easy. He moves in behind me, his body heat seeping through the thin flannel I stole from him. His arms loop around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and a shiver runs through me—but not from the cold.

"Oh, I do," he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the curve of my neck. Another follows, softer, lips dragging lazily against my skin. "If I had it my way, we’d spend the whole damn day naked." His teeth graze my pulse point, making me suck in a sharp breath. "But as much as I love those cute little nipples of yours…" He palms my breasts, rolling his thumbs over said nipples. "I'd hate for them to freeze right off."

A laugh spills from me, breathless and warm, but my body hums at the way he holds me—at the heat in his voice, at the promise in his touch.

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