Sharing a bed with Piper Cross means touching. It means feeling her hot body and soft curves pressed against me all night, testing every ounce of self-control I've built up over time.
But she's right about the cold. And my pride isn't worth risking her safety.
“Okay,” I say roughly.
We pull out the bed together, the ancient springs creaking in protest. The mattress is very thin, worn, and barely big enough for one person let alone two.
Especially when one of those people is me.
This is going to be a nightmare.
We pile every quilt we can find onto the bed, creating layers of insulation. I add more wood to the fire, banking it carefully to burn slow and steady. With the fire and all the candles, the cabin almost looks cozy.
If you ignore the tension so thick I could choke on it.
We move to opposite sides of the bed, neither of us quite willing to commit. Outside, the storm is battering the cabin with relentless fury. Inside, the fire crackles and pops, casting dark shadows on the walls.
I sit down first, my weight making the rusty springs groan. Piper hesitates, then sits on her side, leaving as much space as possible between us. Which isn't much. The mattress dips toward the center, gravity trying to pull us together.
We both notice.
And both shift to compensate.
She pulls the quilts up, burrowing into them like she's trying to disappear. I can see the top of her head, that dark hair spilling out across the pillow.
She's close enough that I could easily touch her. It’s bad enough I can smell her jasmine scented lotion.
Every breath is an exercise in restraint.
I lie back, staring at the ceiling, noticing every sound…
The rustle of quilts as she shifts.
Her breathing going slightly uneven.
The way the mattress moves when she adjusts her position.
We're both lying rigid, careful not to accidentally brush against one another. But I can feel her heat radiating across the inches between us and the awareness thrumming through my veins.
I close my eyes, fists clenched at my sides. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to pull her close, to wrap myself around her and share my heat until she stops shaking…to do what needs to be done for survival.
But I can't. Because if I touch her, if I feel her body against mine, I don't know if I'll be able to stop from doing all the things I’ve wanted to do to her.
Two years of denial could shatter like that wine glass in my hand.
She's Jayce's ex.
She's twenty years younger than me.
She'soff limits.
But she's also right here…cold and shivering.
The thought sends something hot and possessive through me, and I have to shove it down hard.
This is going to be the longest night of my life.
It's only going to get colder. And eventually, whether I want to or not, we're going to have to make a choice.
