“Then go.”
His eyes flick to my mouth.
“No.”
“Then stop telling me what to do.”
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because every time I look at you,” he growls, “I forget how to do anything else.”
My pulse slams so hard I feel dizzy. He scrubs a hand through his snow-damp hair, frustrated. “Lucy, please. Just—just put on your coat. Get in the truck. I can’t—” He breaks off, jaw grinding. “I can’t leave you here.”
The wind screams against the cabin, rattling the windows.
I swallow. “Ash…”
His name on my lips makes him go still. Then he steps even closer, slow and deliberate, until his boots touch mine.
“Say yes,” he murmurs.
“Ash…”
“Say it.”
I inhale sharply. “Fine.”
Relief washes through his expression so raw it hurts to look at. But then, he leans in, bracing one arm against the wall beside my head, breath brushing the top of my cheek.
“Next time,” he murmurs, “don’t make me beg.”
Heat shoots through me so fast I almost choke.
“I didn’t make you beg,” I manage.
“You came damn close.”
“That’s your fault.”
“No,” he whispers, voice sliding down my spine. “It’s yours.”
I glare. “You are impossible.”
He smirks faintly. “Good. Now get your coat.”
Ten minutes later, I’m zipped into my puffy jacket, boots on, scarf tangled wrong. Ash watches me while pretending not to, jaw set like he’s preparing for war.
“You ready?” he asks.
“No.”
“Too bad.”
He grabs my duffel bag, slings it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing, and guides me out into the storm with a hand at my back so hot it might as well be a brand. The snow pelts my face. I squint against the wind.
“Stay close,” he orders.
