Page 57 of Surrender to Me
“Yeah.” I force a smile. “Everything’s fine.” Can he hear the strain in my voice from the lie?
Silence stretches until movement outside catches my eye.
I freeze, and so does Stryker, going preternaturally still.
Then a deer—slender, cautious—steps out of the tree line, its breath a puff of white in the cold.
I exhale deeply. The moment is beautiful but fragile.
“Snow’s coming. Won’t see much wildlife once it starts.” He picks up our mugs. “Want to go out while we’ve still got the view?”
I’m relieved by his suggestion.
He makes me a fresh chai and pours more coffee for himself. Or I assume it’s coffee. The liquid that fills his mug is so dark it looks more like tar.
We bundle up—me in his oversized coat, him throwing a flannel over those sinful sweatpants—and step onto the porch, the air crisp and biting, the mountains stretching endless before us.
The quiet hits me first. Not silence, exactly—there’s the distant rush of wind threading through the pines. But everything about the view feels untouched, like the world’s holding its breath. Snow clouds huddle on the horizon, heavy and gray, their edges glowing faintly gold where the sun is trying to fight through.
In the distance, movement catches my eye again—a flicker of tawny fur against the white frost. Another deer, or maybe the same one, hesitates at the edge of the clearing.
Next to me, Stryker shifts, hand finding the small of my back, his touch as possessive as it is reassuring.
The animal’s ears twitch, muscles tense, and for a heartbeat, it seems to look straight at us. Then it bolts, vanishing into the trees, breaking the spell.
With his fingers still on me, Stryker leads the way to the firepit area.
While I wrap my arms around myself, he effortlessly lights the fire. Within a few minutes, flames are roaring high, and heat chases away the chill.
Unlike last night, Stryker sinks down onto the two-seater bench. Then he captures my wrist to tug me down next to him.
If I were smart, I’d sit in an Adirondack. But when it comes to Stryker, smart no longer seems to be part of my vocabulary.
Without any resistance, I join him.
But he doesn’t allow me to keep any space between us. Instead, he pulls me against his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
His masculine heat seeps through my coat. I wish I was immune to his effect, but instead, I find his touch steady and grounding.
I cradle my chai, the steam curling around my face, the spice and honey cutting through the cold. For one suspended heartbeat, it feels like a life I could want.
He takes a long drink of his coffee, eyes scanning the tree line. “Forecast says the snow’ll start by evening.” His voice is quiet, low enough that I feel it against my temple more than I hear it. “Could be half a foot. Maybe more.”
Which means I’m stuck, trapped with him, for a while longer.
I’m frustrated with the part of me that’s silently doing a happy dance.
Stryker doesn’t seem at all upset by the fact we’re stranded together with one bed. Of course, part of the reason he’s successful at what he does is because he’s patient. Patient and persistent.
“I’ll need to haul in wood, make sure the generator’s topped off.”
I glance at him, trying to read the line of his jaw, the way his expression shifts when he’s thinking. He’s always assessing, always three steps ahead. The protector. The soldier. But when he looks down at me, something in his face softens—so faint, it’s almost impossible to see.
“You been in Colorado a while?”
Warily I turn to face him. His question shouldn’t surprise me. The man wants information, and he’ll use any means to get it. “Long enough.”
“Wasn’t pushing.” His eyebrows draw together slightly. “Just wondering if you’ve been here long enough to see a major storm.”
