“Yes,” I said, matching the glint in his eyes. “If you think you’re just going to agree to whatever I want, you’ve clearly forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
Roan’s smile was slow, dangerous only because of how soft it was. “Oh, I remember exactly who I’m dealing with.”
He took a step closer, deliberate but unhurried, the air between us thickening with awareness. His hand came up, rough fingers brushing the side of my jaw as though asking permission.
I didn’t move away. If anything, I leaned into his touch.
“Wren,” he said, voice lower now, quieter as if my name was something sacred and heavy in his mouth. “You know I meantwhat I said, right? That this isn’t about what happened in the cabin. It’s about what happensnow.”
“I know,” I whispered. I understood exactly what he was saying and it made me even more eager to explore what we could be.
The pulse of heat that sat like a live wire under my skin for the past several days was gone, replaced by something far steadier, and deeper.
Roan’s thumb stroked along my cheekbone, tracing the faintest path. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t a claiming. It wasn’t about control or chemistry or dominance. It was simplyhim—warm, sure, and unhurried. God, the man’s charm was as much a part of him as his talent on the ice. The way his lips moved against mine said so much without saying a word.
It was slow enough that I could taste the breath between us. His other hand came up to cradle the back of my neck, and he exhaled against my mouth, the sound turning into a soft hum that vibrated right through me.
When I parted my lips, it wasn’t because I had to, it was because Iwantedto.
It was all the invitation he needed to deepen the kiss, just slightly, enough to draw a small sound from my throat that he swallowed with a satisfied sigh. My fingers found their way to his shirt, gripping the fabric, not to pull him closer but to steady myself.
He smiled against my lips. I felt it.
Felt the tease before he even pulled back to say it.
“Still figuring it out, huh?” he murmured, voice roughened at the edges.
“Apparently,” I said, a little breathless. “Though I think we’re making progress.”
His answering grin was pure delight, chased quickly by something quieter, something that sat deep in his eyes. He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip once more, then dropped his hand, letting the touch linger in absence.
“I’ll take progress,” he said softly. “One step at a time.”
“Even if I trip sometimes?”
“I’ll be right there to catch you,” he said, simple and sure.
“What happens if you trip?” As unlikely as that case might be, Roan was by far the steadiest of us all, it still needed to be asked.
He chuckled. “You’ll have my back, little flame. You always do.”
The warmth present in that declaration of trust dazzled me. Roan Whittaker was not known for taking prisoners, but I had a feeling that between us—we might just change that.
The pleasure in his voice lingered long after he stepped back. It felt like sunlight spreading beneath my skin, quiet but alive. I was still holding that feeling when the doorbell rang again.
Roan gave me a faint, amused look. “Timing.”
“Apparently, they’re incapable of being fashionably late,” I murmured, smoothing my hair as I went to answer.
Jay and Rhett stood on my front step, the winter air curling around them, both holding brown paper takeout bags that smelled absolutely sinful. Rhett’s grin was wolfish. Jay’s was smug.
“Dinner delivery,” Rhett announced, holding one up like a trophy. “Your favorites.”
I blinked, then laughed outright as the scent hit me. “Is that—oh my God—Ethiopian? You actually remembered?”
