He moves to the fireplace and feeds it logs. Heat blooms quickly, fighting the cold clinging to our skin.
I stand near the fire, arms wrapped around myself. My shirt clings. My teeth chatter.
Diesel glances at me and frowns. He grabs a towel and presses it into my hands.
“Get out of those wet clothes,” he says. “I’ll find something dry.”
His voice is rough, but there’s nothing sexual in it. Matter-of-fact. Protective.
He turns his back and rummages through a drawer, then tosses me a T-shirt and flannel pants.
I duck into the bathroom for a quick shower and change. When I come back, he’s in dry shorts and a gray T-shirt. His hair is damp, curling at the ends.
He looks up.
His eyes linger on my face.
Something hot flashes between us, quick and undeniable, then vanishes like he locked it down.
Rain pounds the roof. Thunder shakes the walls.
The power flickers.
Then goes out.
The only light is the fireplace.
Shadows dance. The room shrinks down to heat and breath and the man standing a few feet away.
There is nothing to distract me from him.
My heart thuds louder than the rain.
Diesel steps closer, then stops like he’s fighting his own body. His gaze drops to my mouth and snaps back to my eyes, jaw tight.
I shouldn’t want this.
Men like him don’t want girls like me.
But my body doesn’t care what I believe.
He reaches out slowly, giving me a chance to flinch, to say no. His knuckles brush my cheek, barely a touch.
The gentleness breaks something in me.
I tilt my face into his hand before I can think.
His breath catches.
For a heartbeat, he looks like a man on the edge of control, and then he makes a decision.
He cups the back of my neck and kisses me.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
A kiss that says mine without a word.
