My name falls from his lips like a prayer and a curse, like I’m something sacred he doesn’t quite know what to do with.
And for a moment, we don’t move.
Just breathing. Just shaking. Justfeeling.
His forehead drops to mine, his chest heaving against my back, and I can feel him still pulsing inside me, like even now, he doesn’t want to let go.
I don’t want him to.
I’m ruined.
Dripping.
His.
And I never want to be anything else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Knox
I leavebefore the sun comes up.
Josie’s still curled on her side, tangled in the blankets, one hand resting over the soft swell of her chest. Her lips are parted slightly, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Peaceful. Warm.
Perfect.
I stand in the doorway for longer than I should, trying to memorize the sight. The way her hair fans out across the pillow. The little crease between her brows. That impossibly tender ache in my chest makes it hard to breathe.
I want to stay. Crawl back in and pull her into my arms until the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
But she’s off work for a reason. And I don’t want to wake her.
So I write a quick note, leave it on the nightstand, and slip out the front door into the crisp mountain morning.
The Cold Snap Café is already humming when I get there. Silver Peak’s early risers buzzing on caffeine and gossip. The smell of fresh bread and burnt espresso clings to the air like a second skin. I tug my ball cap low over my forehead and head for the corner, hoping for anonymity and a damn good cup of coffee.
Lily waves from behind the counter, her smile bright enough to melt the frost on the windows. “Morning, Knox. How you doing after last night? Game night was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Hey, Lily.” I nod. “It sure was. Can I get whatever Mason’s made that doesn’t involve cinnamon?”
She laughs. “Black coffee and a sour cream muffin coming right up.”
I’m halfway through the first sip when I hear it.
“Josie is what? Twenty-five?”
“Just about. And he’s got to be atleastforty. I mean,really.”
I don’t turn around, but my shoulders lock up. The voices drift from two tables over. A pair of women I vaguely recognize from the town council auxiliary. One of them stirs her latte like it’s personally offended her.
“I’m not saying it’s scandalous. But it’s a little inappropriate, don’t you think?”
“He’s her boss. And her elder,” the other says with a loaded smirk. “That kind of power dynamic? Not exactly romantic.”
A loud clatter of ceramic on wood pulls my attention. Mason sets a plate in front of me harder than necessary, jaw tight.
“Ignore them,” he mutters. “Those two run on judgment and caffeine.”
