Page 6 of Shelter Me, Sawyer

But I nod instead. Then turn and walk into the bedroom, heart hammering like I just agreed to something far more dangerous than sharing a mattress.

She follows a minute later, bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

I lie down first, sliding beneath the covers fully clothed. Arms crossed over my chest. Eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She slips under the quilts beside me, pulling them up to her chin. The mattress dips with our weight, and suddenly the queen-size bed feels impossibly small.

We don't talk.

We don't touch.

But I can feel her. The warmth of her body. The rhythm of her breathing as she settles into the space we're now sharing. The way the air between us seems to thicken with every passing minute.

The storm batters the windows. The fire flickers low. And still I don't sleep.

Time moves strangely in the dark. Minutes could be hours. Hours could be heartbeats. The only constants are the storm outside and the woman beside me, both wild things that wandered into my carefully controlled world.

She shivers. Just a little tremor that runs through her body.

I don't think. I just move.

One arm snakes around her, pulling her closer. She comes without resistance, without surprise, tucking herself against my side like it's the most natural thing in the world. Her head finds the hollow of my shoulder. Her hand spreads flat against my chest, directly over my heart.

And when she sighs—soft and content and trusting—I know I'm well and truly fucked.

Four

Scarlett

Iwakeupwarmfor the first time in what feels like days.

Not just physically, though that's definitely part of it. The fire still glows orange in the hearth, and I'm cocooned in flannel sheets that smell like cedar and woodsmoke and something darker, more complex. Something that's purely him.

But it's more than temperature. It's safety. Contentment. The feeling of being exactly where I'm supposed to be, even though that makes no logical sense whatsoever.

Which should probably terrify me.

Instead, I find myself melting deeper into the warmth, into the solid presence beside me. Because somewhere during the night, the careful distance we maintained became meaningless.There's no space between us now. No pretending this is casual or platonic.

His arm is still around me, heavy across my back. Possessive in a way that should alarm me but doesn't. My hand rests on his chest, rising and falling with each steady breath. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm—strong and steady.

I should move. Extract myself before this becomes awkward. Before we have to acknowledge what’s happening here.

But I don't want to.

Instead, I let myself look at him. Really look, now that he's still and unguarded in sleep.

His face is softer without that perpetual scowl. His jaw is covered in dark scruff that I want to trace with my fingertips. His mouth is fuller than I noticed before, surprisingly sensual for someone so hard-edged. His lashes are unfairly thick, casting shadows on his cheekbones in the morning light filtering through the window.

There's a small scar at the corner of his left eyebrow that I hadn't noticed before. I want to know the story behind it. Want to catalog every mark and imperfection that makes himhim.

I want to know everything about him, and that realization should send me running.

Instead, it makes me shift closer.

The movement is subtle, barely perceptible, but it's enough.

His eyes open instantly, like he was only pretending to sleep, locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath, dark and fathomless in the gray morning light.

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