And when it does, God help anyone who tries to touch her.
CHAPTER FIVE
SADIE
Valentine's Day dawns gray and quiet.
The storm has finally stopped. I stand at Wolfe's window, watching the world emerge from under all that white, and try to convince myself that the knot in my stomach is just nerves about Derek.
It's not just nerves about Derek.
Last night, Wolfe Hendrix kissed me against a wall and told me he'd kill my ex-boyfriend, and somehow both of those things made me want him more. What does that say about me? Probably nothing good. Probably something a therapist would have a field day with.
But I can't stop thinking about his hands in my hair. His mouth on my throat. The way he said tomorrow like a vow.
Well. It's tomorrow now.
"Coffee's ready."
I turn from the window. Wolfe is standing in the kitchen doorway, two mugs in his hands, looking unfairly attractive for a man who's been awake since before dawn coordinating tactical operations via radio. His hair is loose around his shoulders today, and I want to bury my fingers in it.
Focus, Sadie. Stalker ex-boyfriend first. Sexy mountain man second.
"Thanks." I take the mug he offers and wrap my hands around it. "Any updates?"
"Mace has a team in position. Derek's still at the inn in town. Hasn't moved yet."
"So we wait."
"We wait."
I hate waiting. Waiting means thinking, and thinking means spiraling, and spiraling means I end up pacing around the cabin like a caged animal while Wolfe watches me with those unreadable gray eyes.
"I need to do something." I set down my coffee after two sips. "I'm going to go crazy just sitting here."
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. Clean something. Organize something. Climb the walls."
He considers this for a moment. "I could teach you to shoot."
I blink. "What?"
"You said you wanted to be part of this. To not feel helpless." He sets down his own mug. "Knowing how to handle a weapon might help with that."
Twenty minutes later, I'm standing behind his cabin in the snow, holding a handgun that feels way too heavy in my grip, trying to focus on the makeshift target he's set up against a tree instead of the solid warmth of his body behind mine.
"Feet shoulder-width apart." His voice is low and calm, his breath warm against my ear. "Relax your shoulders. You're too tense."
"I'm holding a deadly weapon. Tension seems appropriate."
"Tension makes you miss." His hands cover mine on the grip, adjusting my stance. "The gun is a tool. Respect it, but don't fear it."
Easy for him to say. He's probably been shooting since he was in diapers.
"Now. Breathe in." His chest presses against my back. "Breathe out. Squeeze the trigger on the exhale. Don't pull. Squeeze."
I breathe in. Breathe out. Squeeze.
