He shifts, and I catch his scent, a smoky musk combination that makes my stomach flutter. The flannel pants he loaned me are soft against my skin, carrying that same scent. It's like being wrapped in him, and the thought sends heat pooling low in my belly.
“Can't sleep?” he asks.
"Just... processing. Yesterday I was in the city. Now I'm…” I trail off, not sure how to finish. In bed with a sexy mountain manwho makes my pulse race? Having inappropriate thoughts about a complete stranger?
“Now you’re trapped with a strange mountain hermit, his questionable beard, and a dog who’s two shakes away from starring in his own holiday movie.”
I laugh, turning towards him. “You’re not a hermit. Why do you really do it? Check the roads?”
He's quiet for a long time. “Because… I know what it's like to feel lost with no one coming to help.”
The vulnerability in his voice makes me want to reach across the space between us. I don't.
“Get some sleep, Clara. Tomorrow we'll see about your car.”
But I can't sleep. I'm too conscious of him and of how my body seems to be magnetized toward him. Every time Beau shifts, my breath catches. When his breathing finally deepens into sleep, I find myself matching my breaths to his, letting the steady rhythm calm my racing thoughts.
I wake pressed against his back, my arm thrown over his waist, my face buried between his shoulder blades. He's warm, solid, and he smells so good that for a moment I breathe him in, still half-asleep and not quite aware that I've wrapped myself around him like a koala.
Then I feel him tense slightly, awake but not moving.
“Oh, shit!” I scramble backward so fast I nearly fall off the bed. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…”
Beau sits up, not looking at me, and runs a hand through his dark hair. Even messy from sleep, he's devastatingly handsome.
“It was cold last night. Natural instinct.”
Right.That's definitely why my whole body is tingling from pressing against him.
He escapes to the bathroom while I bury my burning face in a pillow. Through the window, there is only a white blur, snow still falling steadily, erasing the real world beyond this cabin.
When I emerge from the bedroom, dressed again in his too-big clothes, he's making breakfast, Comet sniffing the air.
“Coffee?”
“Please.” I settle at the small kitchen table, trying not to stare at the way his flannel stretches across his massive back as he moves. “The storm's not letting up.”
“Radio says it'll continue through tomorrow at least.” He sets a mug in front of me, his fingers brushing mine. That spark again, electric and warm.
“Your car's probably buried by now.”
“Blair's going to kill me.” I wait for the familiar rising panic, but it doesn’t come. Something about this cabin, about the forced pause, makes my city life feel far away.
He plates eggs and bacon, movements efficient but careful. “Why does this promotion matter so much?”
“Well, it's everything I've worked for. Creative Director at twenty-five... it would prove…”
Beau puts a loaded plate in front of me. “Prove what?”
I consider his question as I eat his perfectly cooked eggs. “That I'm enough, I guess. That all the work meant something in the end.”
He sits across from me, and our knees bump under the small table. Neither of us moves away. “You know what I did until five years ago?”
I shake my head, distracted by the way his hands dwarf his coffee mug.
“Tried to run the family resort. Spent years in offices, juggling spreadsheets, in board meetings. My parents kept saying if I tried harder, I'd get it.” He stares into his coffee. “Turns out being dyslexic doesn't go away just because your parents want you to be CEO material and uphold the family name.”
“You’re dyslexic?” I study his face.
