“Luke?” she murmured sleepily.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for coming to get me.”
“Always,” I said, and meant it with everything in me. “I’ll always come get you.”
She pressed a kiss to my chest, right over my heart, and settled closer.
Outside, the ice storm continued. Inside, wrapped in blankets by the fire with Holly in my arms, I’d never felt warmer in my life.
eight
. . .
Luke
I woketo pale winter light filtering through the bedroom windows and the unfamiliar weight of another person in my bed. The room was overwhelmingly warm, which meant the power must have come back on while we slept.
Holly was curled against my side, one long leg thrown over my shorter one, her hand resting on my chest. Her breathing was slow and even, her face peaceful in sleep.
For a moment, I just watched her—the way her lashes fanned out against her cheeks, the slight part of her lips, and the mess of her hair spread across my pillow. She looked softer in sleep, less burdened by the weight of everything she carried, and I felt that same surge of protectiveness I’d experienced last night mixed with something deeper.
Love.
I loved her.
The thought should have been pure joy. Instead, it sat alongside the weight of what I hadn’t told her.
I’d meant to tell her last night. Had planned to bring it up during the hours we’d spent talking, learning each other’s histories, sharing stories. But every time I opened my mouth to tell her I ran our profiles through my algorithm, the words died in my throat.
And now I’d slept with her. Had tied her to my bed and made her scream. Had confessed I loved being inside her, had licked my own cum out of her in a display of intimacy I’d never imagined with another person.
But I couldn’t tell her about a fucking algorithm.
Coward.
The guilt twisted in my gut, sharp and unforgiving. This was exactly the kind of thing that would make her run. Make her question everything we’d done. Everything I’d said.
Make her wonder if any of it had been real.
You have to tell her.
The thought made my chest feel tight and my hands clammy. What if she left? What if she looked at me with disgust or betrayal or—worse—pity? What if this perfect thing we’d built over the past week shattered because I’d been too much of a coward to be honest from the start?
Holly shifted in her sleep, making a small, contented sound, and burrowed closer against me. Her hand flexed on my chest, her fingers curling into my skin.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of my soap from the shower we’d taken around two o’clock in the morning, mixed with something that was uniquely her.
You’ll tell her today, I promised myself.Before this goes any further. She deserves to know.
Even if it meant losing her.
Holly stirred twenty minutes later with a jaw-popping yawn. The drowsy smile that followed sent my pulse racing.
“Morning,” she rasped, her voice still thick with sleep.
“Good morning.”
