Page 11 of Stone Cold Mountain Man
He moves fast—too fast for someone who claims to hate company. His arm snakes around my waist, steadying me before I fall right off the sofa. Suddenly I’m half in his lap, his fingers splayed against my side, holding me still.
The room goes very quiet.
I’m close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under my palm.
My teasing grin fades as a new kind of awareness hums through the air. He’s looking at me like he’s not sure whether to pull me closer or bolt for the door.
For one heartbeat, I swear he’s going to kiss me. The thought sends a pulse of warmth down my spine, pooling somewhere low and dangerous.
Then Wade gently pushes me back toward my cushion, breaking the spell.
“We should get some sleep,” he says, voice rougher than usual.
The words land like a pebble dropped into a pond, rippling through me. I paste on a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Right. Sleep.”
He stands, gathering the cards with unnecessary precision, stacking them into a neat pile. I smooth my sweater, pretending I don’t feel the sting of rejection buzzing just under my skin.
“Thanks for the game,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel.
He nods, still not meeting my eyes. “I’ll get the blankets.”
I watch him cross the room. His broad shoulders outlined by the soft glow of the lamp. Outside, snow drifts against the window, thick and silent. Inside, everything suddenly feels—complicated.
I remind myself that it’s fine, that I came here to escape the city, not fall for a man who looks like a lumberjack catalog come to life.
But when he turns back, arms full of blankets, his jaw ticks like he’s trying to hold something back, and I know sleep won’t come easy tonight.
9
Wade
The floor’s hard. No surprise there. I’ve got one blanket under me, and another pulled up to my chest, a pillow wedged beneath my head. It’s not comfortable, but I’ve slept on worse. Nights in the truck bed, on a fishing trip, curled against tree roots when the weather turned and I couldn’t make it back before dark.
It isn’t the floor keeping me awake. It’sher.
Taylor’s in the bathroom, the light spilling across the hall, the faint sound of running water muffled by the door. I rub a hand over my jaw, thinking about what almost happened on the couch.
I wanted to kiss her. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.
For years, I thought solitude was the only way to keep myself sane. Quiet days, predictable nights, no one to disappoint and no one to lose. I built a life around silence, convinced it was enough. But tonight—her laughter, her endless stories, the warmth she drags into every room—tonight showed me something I didn’t even know I wanted.
A life.
With her.
The bathroom light clicks off. The door creaks open, and Taylor steps into the room with her clothes folded neatly in her arms.
She’s wearing one of my shirts.
It hangs loose, soft cotton falling over her curves, the hem just barely skimming the tops of her thighs. My mouth goes dry. Heat rushes through me, sharp and immediate, and I have to shift my hips slightly, so she doesn’t notice what just seeing her has done to me.
She sets her folded clothes on the nightstand, moving like she belongs here, like this is her space too. Then she slips under the covers of my bed—because of course I insisted she take it. She deserves comfort, even if it leaves me on the floor staring up at the shadows crawling across the ceiling.
“You need anything?” I ask, my voice lower than usual.
“I’m fine,” she says softly.
She turns off the lamp, and darkness covers us. Only the sound of the wind fills the silence, whistling against the cabin walls, rattling the eaves.
