Page 12 of Forbidden Passions

The sheets smelled like my borrowed shirt—that same clean, fresh from the outside scent with an undertone of… him. I buried my face in the pillow, inhaling deeply before I could stop myself.

I shouldn’t want him. I barely knew him. But the wanting was there, curling low and heavy inside me. The way he carried his pain. The way he looked like he’d forgotten how to be touched. It made me ache.

This was ridiculous. I’d known the man for only a few hours. Yet something about Gabriel Holt called to me on a level I couldn’t quite understand—a pull that went beyond his obvious physical appeal.

Max jumped up onto the bed, circling three times before settling against my legs with a contented sigh.

“At least one of us is happy,” I told him, scratching behind his ears.

Outside the window, lightning flashed, followed by a crash of thunder that rattled the glass. The storm showed no signs of abating. We were well and truly trapped here, possibly for days.

Days of wondering what he’d do if I rolled over and reached for him in the dark. Of waking to his body heat and not being able to pretend it didn’t affect me.

I burrowed deeper under the covers, half hoping Gabriel would decide to sleep somewhere else after all. Becausethe alternative—lying beside him, close enough to touch but knowing I shouldn’t—seemed like a special kind of torture.

“We’re in trouble, Max,” I whispered into the darkness.

But as I drifted toward sleep, I couldn’t deny the thrill of anticipation curling in my stomach at the thought of Gabriel eventually sliding into bed beside me, whether he wanted to or not.

Some storms, it seemed, happened inside as well as outside.

CHAPTER FOUR

Gabriel

I was losing my fucking mind.

That was the only explanation for why I was sitting in my living room, staring at the bedroom door, knowing Callie Winters was in my bed, wearing my clothes, and I was actually considering joining her.

Three years of carefully maintained isolation, and one rain-soaked woman with wild curls and a smart mouth had me questioning everything in the span of a few hours.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm. The clock on the wall read close to midnight. I’d been sitting, debating my options like I was planning a tactical mission.

I could sleep in the armchair. I’d done it before. Not the whole night, but after I’d eaten and read for a few hours, I’d doze on and off. It wasn’t restful, but it was a way for my body to unwind.

I could sleep on the floor, which wouldn’t be the worst place I’d ever slept, but wasn’t ideal. And both my shoulder and back would also hate me in the morning.

I could sleep with Callie in the bed with Max between us as she’d suggested, and lie awake all night with a raging hard-on.

None of them seemed particularly appealing.

Max had abandoned me about twenty minutes after Callie disappeared into the bedroom, trotting after her with a backward glance that felt oddly like judgment. Even the dog thought I was being ridiculous.

Maybe I was.

It was just a bed. Just sleep. With a woman who made my pulse quicken every time she looked at me with those whiskey-colored eyes. A woman whose scent—something floral and warm—now permeated my cabin, making it impossible to pretend she wasn’t here.

A particularly violent gust of wind rattled the windows, followed by a crash of thunder that shook the cabin. The storm was getting worse, not better. We’d be lucky if the roads were passable within two days at this rate.

Two days with Callie Winters. In my space. In my head.

I stood abruptly, needing movement. Three steps took me to the window, where I pulled back the curtain to stare out into the darkness. Rain lashed against the glass. The creek that ran along the edge of my property would be a raging torrent by now. If she hadn’t found my cabin…

The thought sent an unexpected chill through me. She would have been in serious danger. Hypothermia at best. Swept away at worst.

I let the curtain fall back into place, forcing those thoughts away—and why they upset me so much. She was safe. Here. In my bed.

I groaned quietly, resting my forehead against the cool glass. This was torture, and entirely my own doing. I could stay firm, sleep on the floor, not cave to her practical suggestion of sharing the bed.

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