Noah turned slowly, his eyes finding mine in the firelight. The intensity in his gaze made my stomach drop. There was something raw and electric between us now, crackling even fiercer than the storm outside.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
So there I was. Trapped in a cabin.
With Noah Barrett.
In the middle of nowhere. Miles from civilization.
With Noah Barrett.
Naked.
With Noah Barrett.
As he turned away from the reflection in the window, I forced myself to look back at the flames, pretending to be fascinated by the way they licked at the wood. He said nothing, but we both knew what I’d seen in the window’s reflection.
“Your fire-building skills are impressive,” I said, scrambling for something to fill the void.
“Told you I could start a fire in the rain.” Noah crouched down to throw another moldy log on the fire. I tried not to stare, failing miserably.
I hugged the blanket closer. It felt like there was electricity buzzing throughout the entire cabin, burning hotter than the lightning bolts filling the sky.
Noah sat beside me, trying to warm himself, with the curtain barely covering his thighs. “You doing okay?”
Surprisingly, I was. “Yeah. Not bad, considering.”
“You know, for someone who spends her life curating perfection, you handle imperfect pretty well.” The compliment was unexpected, offered without his usual sarcasm.
“My life is filled with imperfection,” I said. “You already know about my love life. My dumpling-folding skills. All you have to do now is see my apartment in Los Angeles.”
The look on his face suggested it was an invitation he might actually accept. Before I could stop myself, I let out a little laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
The cold, the rain, and the exhaustion must have rattled my brain. “Nothing,” I lied, clearing my throat. “I was just thinking about …”
…taking you back home to LA
…showing you around my apartment
…giving you a hands-on tour of my bedroom furniture
“I was just thinking about what Victoria would think if I added this to my Instagram story.” I waved my hand around the cabin. “I suspect a rustic cabin sleepover isn’t what she had in mind when she demanded luxurious authenticity.”
Noah chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “I don’t know. This might be the most authentic Colorado experience you’ve had yet.”
“Well, authentic doesn’t always photograph well,” I admitted.
“Maybe some things aren’t meant to be captured.” Noah stared into the flames. “Maybe they’re just meant to be experienced. By the people who are there actually experiencing them.”
Our eyes met across the fire, andsomething shifted between us. The air felt suddenly thick, charged with possibility.
A deafening crack of thunder shook the cabin, wooden boards rattling like during a magnitude ten earthquake. I yelped, grabbing Noah’s arm. He didn’t flinch.
“Sorry,” I whispered, trying to pull away, but Noah caught my hand.
“Not a fan of storms?”
