The fire flickered, casting moving shadows across her features. I could feel the warmth — and the warmth of her — pulling me closer even as every sensible part of me screamed,don’t.
Her hand reached out before I could register movement, wrapping her fingers around my wrist.
My chest jumped, and heat pooled where the contact met me.
Oh my god.Not this.
Every rational thought screamed, shouted at me todo somethingas she pulled my hand towards her breast.
I tried to pull back subtly, but she didn’t budge. Instead, her hand guided mine — slowly, deliberately — until it rested over her chest. My eyes widened, and my pulse thundered in my ears.
“You… Colette…” I whispered, voice low, caught between panic and disbelief.
She tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, totally. Feel that?” She pressed my hand lightly over her heart. “That’s the beat of a professional broken heart, Silas Reed. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel that coming.”
I froze, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.A professional broken heart?My mind scrambled. Relief, shock, and lingering heat all tangled into a knot that had my knees feeling weak.
I decidednotto acknowledge the little seed of disappointment that sprouted in my stomach.
She laughed softly at my expression. “Relax, hotshot. I saidprofessional broken heart, notinstant chaos maker. Though, to be fair…” Her grin widened. “…that’s a bonus, isn’t it?”
I opened my mouth, closed it, and cleared my throat again. Mygaze flicked to her, then the fire, then back to her, utterly disarmed. “Have some self-control, Colette.” I spat harsher than I intended.
But the truth? It didn’t dampen her grin even in the slightest bit.
CHAPTER 11
Silas
The morning crept in slowly,snow still thick outside, making the cabin feel like its own little world. I watched her curl on the couch, knees tucked under a thick blanket, a book open in her lap. Not mine, thank God, because I wasn’t ready for her to start critiquing my work before she’d even had coffee.
She hummed softly to herself, flipping a page with exaggerated care, and I had to bite back a grin. She looked completely harmless… until she caught me staring.
“You’re just sitting there,” she said, one brow lifted. “Judging me?”
“Observing,” I corrected, trying to sound dignified. “It’s different. I’m… professional about it.”
She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Professional, huh? What is it now? Brooding over the fire again? Or counting how many heartbeats I’ve stolen already?”
I cleared my throat, fighting the sudden heat that crept up my neck. “I’m… cataloging details. For writing purposes.”
She laughed, the sound curling through the cabin like smoke. “Details, sure. That’s what we’ll call it.”
I rose, stretching my back, and went to the corner where my bagrested. The typewriter had come with me, ancient and clunky and perfect. I pulled it out, set it carefully on the small table.
Her eyes went wide. “Is that… a typewriter?”
“Yes.” I almost saidmy precious, almost didn’t, but her expression made it impossible to hide. She leaned forward, peering at it like a child discovering treasure.
“You actually… type?” she asked, incredulous. “I thought you wrote on some sleek laptop like a normal human being.”
“Normal humans are boring,” I muttered, running a finger along the keys.
She gasped dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “You’re insane. And wonderful. And slightly terrifying. I can’t even deal with this.”
I couldn’t stop the small smirk tugging at my lips. “Slightly terrifying is a good thing. You should know that.”
She shook her head, laughing again, and patted the couch beside her. “Sit. Show me. Let me see what a 51-year-old chaos author looks like at work.”
