“Graham…” she whispers, touched in a way that hits me somewhere raw.
I step closer without meaning to. Then closer because I want to.
“You’re changing the entire concept,” she says quietly.
“No,” I correct. “I’m shaping it. With you.”
Willow looks up sharply, breath catching. Her lips part, her expression soft, but surprised and hopeful. I reach out slowly, giving her every chance to step back. She doesn’t. I brush a fingertip along her jaw. Her breath shudders.
“Willow,” I murmur, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss last night.”
Her hand lifts hesitantly, resting against my chest. “I haven’t either,” she whispers.
That’s all it takes. In two strides, I have her against the stone fireplace, my body caging hers gently, giving her warmth against the cold draft slipping through the cracked windows.
I kiss her softly at first. Then deeper and slower. Her fingers twist into my coat. My hand slides into her hair, tilting her mouth precisely where I want it. The kiss turns hungry with days of unspoken tension collapsing into one overwhelming point of contact. She makes a quiet sound in her throat that arouses me even more. I break only long enough to whisper against her lips. “This … isn’t casual for me.”
Her breath trembles out, warm against my mouth. “It isn’t for me either.”
I kiss her again – longer this time, with a tenderness I didn’t know I possessed. Outside, snow begins to fall harder. Inside, the lodge holds us like a secret. When we finally pull apart, our foreheads rest together. My voice is hoarse when I say:
“I want to do this. With you. With this lodge. With all of it.”
Her eyes shine. “Then let’s figure it out.”
I smile big and it feels real and unstoppable. Because I know the truth now. This woman is not a distraction. She’s the reason I want to get everything right.
Chapter 11
Willow
By the time I drive back into town, my lips are still warm. My pulse hasn’t recovered. And my thoughts are an absolute riot. I kissed Graham Sinclair. Twice. No,hekissedme. And I kissed him back like I was trying to rewrite every story I’d ever believed about developers, outsiders, or men who blow into town and “fix” things without caring about the aftermath. Except hedoescare. That’s what scares me.
I’m still coasting on that terrifying warmth when I step into City Hall. Avery looks up from the front desk, eyes widening. “You’re glowing.”
“I’m cold,” I lie.
“You’re sweaty,” she whispers. “Cold people don’t sweat.”
I scrub a hand across my forehead. “It’s been a long morning.”
Before she can pry, Spencer walks in, stomping snow off his boots. “There you are,” he says. “Need you to sign off on the vendor power routing. We’ve got two load issues.”
“Sure,” I say, grateful for the interruption. “Let me grab my …”
Spencer stops, studying me with narrowed eyes. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I say too quickly.
He grunts. “Sure,” but doesn’t push.
We head into the conference room. I’m expecting a quick briefing, a map, maybe a cup of coffee if someone remembered to brew a fresh pot. What I’m not expecting is the speakerphone sitting in the center of the table. The little red light blinking. And Holden pacing the far side of the room, shoulders tight.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Holden exhales in that resigned way he gets when he’s stuck delivering bad news. “Atlanta got overexcited. She looped in two of Graham’s investors directly.”
My stomach drops. “Why?”
