Page 23 of Claimed By the Lumberjack

“Not really,” I admit. “I keep thinking someone’s going to break in. Or I’ll open my phone and find a new picture. Or worse—nothing at all, and I’ll just have to wait, and wonder, and not know what’s next.”

He presses a kiss to my temple. “I get it.”

“What about you?” I whisper. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

He shakes his head. “Been thinking.”

“About?”

He takes a breath and then answers, “You. Me. What happens when this thing between us stops? Is this just a fling?”

My heart stutters. “It was never a fling,” I say.

He nods like he knows that, but hearing it out loud does something to both of us.

His arms tighten around me. “I’m not used to letting people in, Tessa.”

“I’m not used to someone wanting me to stay.”

We sit like that for a while, just holding each other. No urgency. No heat. Just the solid, grounding presence of his body beneath mine, our breath syncing in time with the crackle of the fire.

“You scare the hell out of me,” he says into my hair.

I smile softly. “Right back at you.”

His hand slides to the side of my neck, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “I want you,” he says. “Not just for tonight. For all of it. Even the hard parts.”

I pull back enough to look at him. His eyes are open and bare in a way I’ve never seen before. There’s no wall left between us. And that’s the moment I know I’m not falling. I’ve already fallen.

I kiss him gently, and he kisses me back with everything unspoken between us. Not to start something, but to remind us both that this is real. He stands with me in his arms, carrying me like I weigh nothing, and climbs the ladder back to the loft.

He lays me down in the bed, then slides in beside me, pulling the blanket over us and curling his body around mine. His chest against my back. His hand in mine. He doesn’t let go, and neither do I.

And this time, when I close my eyes, I sleep.

* * *

I wake to the smell of coffee.

It takes me a second to register that I’m still in his arms, one leg tangled with his, my cheek pressed to his chest. He’s awake, looking down at me like I’m the best part of his morning.

“You slept,” he says softly.

I nod. “Because you held me.”

He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Always.”

We move slowly this morning, we have coffee with the occasional grin over the rim of a mug. He makes breakfast. I steal half of his toast. We clean up together, and it’s all so easy that it hurts.

Then, my phone buzzes on the counter. I pick it up, and a cold shiver races down my spine. There’s a text.

Blocked Number:Cute view this morning. Hope you slept well.

Attached is a photo of the cabin taken from outside this morning. From the way the light hits the window, it was taken while I was still in Sawyer’s arms.

Chapter Twelve

Sawyer

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