She wasn’t. Neither one of us were.
When we reached the clearing, I pulled up to the cabin. Her SUV still sat in the drive, and everything looked the same, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
“Stay here and lock the doors. I want to make sure the cabin’s safe before you come inside.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.
I gently grabbed her arm. “I’m not. Just let me do this.”
“Fine.” She frowned but settled back against the seat.
“I’ll only be a minute.” I got out and headed to the porch. The door was locked, and I could hear Scout on the other side. I walked through the cabin and made sure nothing had been disturbed. I hadn’t been able to protect Caleb, but I wouldn’t fail his niece. Satisfied everything was just as we’d left it, I jogged back out to the truck and pulled open her door.
“It’s clear. Go inside and stay with the dog. I want to check the lodge and the perimeter before we settle in for the night.”
She didn’t move right away. “Do you think someone’s been back?”
“I think it’s smart to assume they have.” I held her arm as we raced for the shelter of the porch. “I won’t be long.”
She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “Be careful.”
The word dug into me. Not because I needed the reminder—but because no one had cared enough to say it to me in a long damn time. Nodding, I left her standing in the doorway and took off into the woods.
I did a full sweep of the lodge and the woods behind it, checking for signs that someone had gotten too close. Thanks to the rain, it was impossible to see any new prints, but everything else looked the same. Still, my gut twisted with unease. I doubted whoever left the rabbit had finished what they started.
By the time I got back to the cabin, I was soaked to the skin.
Juniper opened the door before I could knock. She stood there with a towel in her hands, waiting like she’d been listening for the sound of my boots on the porch.
“Here,” she said, holding out the towel. “You’re soaked to the skin.”
The light from inside glowed behind her. Her hair was pulled back, her feet bare, and my flannel shirt from the night before hung down past her thighs. She looked warm. Soft. Like how I imagined coming home might look.
I stepped inside, shut the door behind me, and let the warmth of the fire thaw my frozen fingers. She reached up to press the towel to my shoulders, her fingers brushing my neck, and the air between us snapped tight.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I said, my voice low.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
I looked down at her, my chest rising and falling faster than it should have. “I’d never leave you unprotected.”
Her gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Tell me you don’t want to kiss me again.”
“I can’t,” I said.
The towel hit the floor, along with all my good intentions.
I reached for her, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and pulling her mouth to mine. Her lips parted instantly, like she’d been holding her breath, waiting for this moment as long as I had. I kissed her like I meant it—because I did. My other hand found her waist, then her lower back, tugging her closer until there was nothing between us but heat.
She clutched the front of my wet shirt, her fingers digging in like she needed to feel me, not just touch me.
“Griff,” she breathed against my mouth, a whisper that sounded more likepleasethanstop.
I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
She was warm, willing, and soft everywhere I was hard. When I lifted her, her legs wrapped around my waist, her core hot against my belly, and I turned us toward the hallway.
