Ben’s staring at the bathroom door.
I’m staring at both of them.
“So,” I say. “We should probably talk about this.”
Ben’s head snaps toward me. “Talk about what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The fact that we all just walked through a blizzard for the same woman? The fact that you haven’t stopped touching her since we got back? The fact that Elijah wrapped her hands like he was handling the Mona Lisa?”
Elijah doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at his hands.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Ben says.
“Ben.”
“It’s not—we’re just—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “She needed help. We helped. That’s it.”
“That’s it,” I repeat flatly. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding her for weeks? Why you literally fled the building when she tried to talk to you? Because you don’t have feelings for her?”
He doesn’t answer.
I look at Elijah. “What about you? You have feelings for her?”
A long pause. Then, low, “Yes.”
“Thank you. Honesty. Refreshing.” I lean back in my chair. “I do too, by the way. In case that wasn’t obvious.”
Before anyone can respond, the bathroom door opens.
Tessa emerges in Ben’s clothes.
My mouth goes dry.
The cabin’s main room is warm now, the fire casting long shadows across the worn leather couch and the shelves crammed with paperbacks and fishing gear. Ben’s place is comfortable in that lived-in way—mismatched furniture, a quiltthrown over the armchair, photos of his family on the mantel. It should feel cluttered. Instead it just feels like home.
And Tessa, standing in the doorway in clothes three sizes too big, looks like she belongs here.
The sweatpants are too long, pooling around her feet. The t-shirt hangs off one shoulder, exposing her collarbone and the delicate line of her neck. The flannel’s wrapped around her like a robe, sleeves dangling past her fingertips.
She looks soft. Rumpled. Completely unlike the sharp-edged event planner I’m used to.
And her scent?—
Fuck.
She’s drenched in Ben. His leather-and-musk scent is all over her, mixed with her lavender, and every alpha instinct I have snaps to attention. My hands curl into fists. My jaw tightens. A growl builds in my throat that I have to physically swallow down.
Mine.The thought hits me like a freight train.Should be mine. Should be MY scent on her skin, MY clothes on her body?—
I force myself to breathe. Slow. Controlled.
It’s not jealousy, exactly. Or not just jealousy. It’s want. Raw and primal and completely out of my control. I want to cross the room and pull her against me. Want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. Want to mark her until my scent is so tangled with hers that no one can tell where she ends and I begin.
I glance at Ben and Elijah. They’re both staring at her with the same barely-contained hunger. Ben’s nostrils are flared. Elijah’s gone completely still, the way he does when he’s holding himself back.
We’re so screwed.
“Better?” I manage, and I’m proud that my voice comes out steady.
