Page 11 of Forbidden Passions

Something like pain flickered across his face, so quickly I almost missed it.

“You don’t know me,” he said quietly.

“I’m a good judge of character too.” I brought the pasta to the table. “Dinner’s ready.”

We ate in relative silence, broken only by the sound of rain hammering against the roof and the occasional rumble of thunder. The storm wasn’t letting up. If anything, it was getting worse.

“This is good,” Gabriel said after a few bites, sounding almost surprised.

“Don’t sound so shocked.” I grinned. “I have hidden talents.”

His eyes met mine across the table, and for a brief moment, I glimpsed something hungry that had nothing to do with the food. Then he looked away, focusing intently on his plate.

After dinner, Gabriel insisted on washing the dishes, probably to avoid more conversation. I let him. But every time he moved, I noticed. The way his back flexed beneath that worn shirt. The way his hands moved with care that made my skin crave a simple touch.

And maybe it was crazy, maybe it was the storm, but something in me wanted him to come to bed. To stop resisting. To see what might happen if he let go. Just once.

“Is that your bedroom?” I asked, nodding to the other door in the hallway, down from the bathroom.

Gabriel’s shoulders tensed as he dried a plate. “Yes.”

“I should warn you, I’m a blanket hog.” I kept my tone light, teasing.

He set the plate down carefully. “I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“Insomnia?”

His jaw tightened. “Something like that.”

The shadows under his eyes told me it was more than that. Memories, maybe. Guilt. Things that clawed at him in the dark.

I wanted to push, to ask about the nightmares that surely accompanied his military service, but something in his expression warned me off. Instead, I yawned, stretching my arms above my head. The movement made his t-shirt stretch across my breasts even more. His eyes dropped before he jerked his gaze away.

The air between us thickened. Charged. If I’d moved just a little closer, I could’ve leaned into him, brushed against that broad chest and dared him to act. But I didn’t. Not yet.

“I’m exhausted,” I admitted. “Mind if I turn in?”

He nodded stiffly. “Go ahead. I’ll be there... later.”

The implication being after I was asleep, so we wouldn’t have to acknowledge the awkwardness of getting into bed together.

“Suit yourself.” I headed for the door, then paused. “Gabriel?”

“Yeah?” His voice was carefully neutral.

“Thank you. For letting us stay. For taking care of Max.” I smiled softly. “I know we’re an inconvenience, but still. Thank you.”

Something in his expression softened, just for a moment. “You’re welcome, Callie.”

It was the first time he’d said my name, and the sound of it in his deep voice sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the storm raging outside.

I slipped into his bedroom, closing the door behind me. The room was as spartan as the rest of the cabin—a large bed with simple navy bedding, a wooden dresser, a small bedside table with a lamp and a book. No photos, no personal touches.

No signs of a life beyond survival. No softness. Just a man who’d built a fortress out of solitude.

The bed looked enormous—more than enough room for two people and a dog. I ran my hand over the comforter, trying not to think about Gabriel sleeping here night after night, alone. Trying not to imagine what he might look like first thing in the morning, with stubble darkening his jaw and sleep softening his eyes.

“Get it together,” I muttered to myself, pulling back the covers and climbing in.

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