So I force the words out, quiet and cautious.
“Um, your sister called.”
Thatcher’s shutting down the computer, fingers pausing over the keyboard.
“Yeah? She okay?”
“She’s getting out of the hospital tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” he says, distracted. Unconcerned.
But then I say the rest.
“She also, uh, offered me a place to stay while the cabin’s being repaired.”
He stops.
Everything stops.
Like I just sucked the air straight out of the room.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
Just freezes mid-motion.
And that’s when I realize I’ve made a mistake.
Old doubts creep in. I bite my lip.
Maybe it’s not what I said—but in how I said it.
“She did what?” His voice drops low, flat. Dangerous.
I swallow hard.
“Kelly said she’d have her husband come get me. So I wouldn’t have to sleep in the office or anything.”
He explodes out of his chair like a storm barely held back by skin and bone.
“You’re not sleeping in the fucking office,” he snarls, towering over me now, jaw clenched so tight I’m shocked I can’t hear his teeth crack. “And you’re not going to Kelly’s either.”
My breath stutters in my lungs. But I’m not afraid.
I’m excited.
And it’s the first time a man’s anger caused my panties to get wet.
His dark eyes glitter. He looks rough and gorgeous in his flannel and denim.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, and really, I want him to tell me.
He steps in even closer.
I feel the heat of him. The power. The barely leashed fury.
And something inside me tightens in response—and still, it’s not fear exactly.
Notofhim.
