Page 7 of Shelter Me, Sawyer

"Morning," I whisper, afraid to break whatever spell has settled over us.

His voice is rough with sleep, gravelly and low. "You stayed close."

It's not a question. Not quite an accusation. Just an observation, tinged with something that might be surprise.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Not sure what I'd say anyway.

He doesn't move away. Doesn't apologize or make excuses. Just watches me like I'm some wild thing that wandered into his territory and he hasn't decided whether I'm friend or foe.

Then, slowly, he lifts his free hand and brushes a curl away from my cheek. The gesture is so gentle, so careful, that it makes my chest tight.

"You're warm," he murmurs, thumb trailing along my jawline like he's memorizing the shape of me.

"So are you."

His eyes drop to my mouth for just a heartbeat, and I feel the intensity of his gaze everywhere. In my pulse. In the sudden heat unfurling low in my belly. In the way my lips part involuntarily, like they're already anticipating his touch.

The air between us charges with electricity. Anticipation. Want so thick I can almost taste it.

"Scarlett…”

"Yes?"

"If you keep looking at me like that…"

I swallow hard, heart hammering against my ribs. "Like what?"

"Like you want me to kiss you."

"And if I do?" I whisper.

He doesn't answer.

Not with words.

Instead, his hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my curls like he's been thinking about this moment since he first saw me. Like he's been fighting the urge to touch me exactly like this.

And then he kisses me like no man has kissed me before. Greedy. Hungry. Taking and giving in equal measure until I’m breathless and dizzy but dying for more.

Five

Sawyer

Shegaspsagainstmymouth, and I take it like an invitation, deepening the kiss until she's drowning in it. In me.

She tastes like heat and honey and something I can't name but know I'll crave for the rest of my life. When her body arches into mine, soft curves pressing against hard muscle, it feelsright.Like this was meant to be.

Like maybe she wasn't lost on this mountain after all.

Maybe she wasdelivered.

Her fingers dig into my chest, nails biting through the fabric of my shirt like she needs something solid to anchor her. I want to give her that. Want to be her anchor, her shelter, her reasonto stay in this place that's felt more like home in the past twelve hours than it has in ten years of solitude.

I pull back just enough to look at her—lips swollen, eyes dazed, chest rising and falling like she's been running uphill.

"You don't scare easy," I say roughly, voice barely recognizable to my own ears.

"Should I be afraid?”

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