I follow him to the kitchen, noticing how every motion he makes is intentional and sharp. His hands are big, scarred, with veins that trail up his forearms like rivers. I watch, mesmerized, as he pours steaming hot water into a mug, sliding it across the counter toward me. I reach for it, and our fingers brush…his skin is hot. The electricity between us makes my face flush.
I clear my throat and force myself to look away, searching for something, anything to distract me, filling the silence. “So…do you always make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress, or am I a special case?”
He leans back against the counter, arms crossed, his face unreadable. “Most people don’t make it out this far; they stick to the path. The town is full of warnings. Guess you missed them.”
I squint, holding his gaze, refusing to let him see my flinch. “Or maybe I’m just stubborn.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. “No, maybe about it, princess.”
The air between us is undeniably thick, charged. He’s not flirting. If anything, he’s sizing me up, trying to figure out how much trouble I’m going to be. He makes me feel stripped bare, like he can see every reckless flaw in me, and he doesn’t care. Or maybe he does, and that’s even worse.
“You can hang your coat by the fire. It’ll dry faster that way. Or you can just keep leaking all over my floor.”
I fumble with the zipper, the fabric material is plastered to my skin, making every movement to get the stupid thing off awkward. I can feel his eyes on me, lingering, and I swear he’s not hating the show. When I finally peel my way out of it, tossing it onto the nearest chair, I collapse onto the edge of the leather couch, still shivering.
He reappears with a flannel shirt in hand. “Put this on,” he grunts. “The bathroom is down the hall. Throw your wet stuff out, and I’ll put them in the dryer.”
Everything in me wants to be defiant…refuse. But what sense would that make? Without a word, I yank the shirt out of his hand, ducking into the bathroom. Honestly, I can’t get out of these wet clothes fast enough, tossing them out like he said.
I pull the flannel over my head, taking in my reflection in the mirror. The thing is fucking huge, fitting me like a dress. It smells like woodsmokeand man, and something else I’m not ready to name. I catch another glimpse of myself, this time noticing my wild hair, pink cheeks, eyes wide, and a little wild.
When I’m finally done trying to make myself look as presentable as I can, I walk out, noticing he’s nowhere around, and my wet clothes are also missing. His absence is both a relief and a disappointment.
I hover by the fire, wrapping the flannel tighter around me, trying not to imagine how he would look if he were the one wearing nothing but this shirt.
He reappears, this time from a different hallway, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, and one eyebrow cocked. “So, what’s your name, city girl?”
I look up, meeting his gaze. “Annie. And you are…?”
There’s a pause, like he’s debating whether or not he wants to answer. “Garrett Hall.”
“Garrett,” I repeat it, reaching for the tea I left sitting before I went to change.
He keeps standing there, watching me, his face unreadable. “You always this much of a disaster, Annie?”
I grin, hiding behind the rim of the mug. “Not usually. But I’m full of surprises.”
Something comes across his eyes…a challenge, an invitation, a warning. For a second, it feels like we are the only two people left in the world, the storm outside nonexistent. I want to touch him, to see if he’s as solid as he looks, to find out what kind of trouble we could make together.
But I don’t. I can’t.
I just sip my tea, my heart pounding, already thinking of ways I can get this grumpy man to smile…or maybe just see if I can make him growl.
Either way, I’m not leaving this cabin any time soon.
Chapter 2
Garrett
If I had my way,I’d never have to open my door for another soul as long as I live. That was the whole point of all this…coming back, buying the land, building the cabin, stacking the woodpile higher than my own damn head.
Quiet.
Routine.
Hell, I’ve spent years perfecting the art of being left alone.
But now Annie is standing in my living room, dripping rainwater all over my custom-stained floors, shivering, trying to act like the whole situation isn’t as bad as I know it could have ended up being. And the worst part, what pisses me off most, is that I don’t want her to leave.
