“You’re incredible.”
His whole body goes still. “Jessie?—”
“I mean it.” I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. “What you just did. What you do every day. The way you take care of everyone. You don’t even realize how rare that is.”
“I’m not?—”
“Stop it.” I grab the front of his shirt, fisting the worn flannel in my hands. “For once in your life, just shut up and let someone tell you you’re amazing.”
He grips my wrists, holding me in place. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” I press closer and feel the sharp intake of his breath. “I’m saying you’re a good man, Sawyer Granger. The best man I’ve ever known. And if you try to argue with me, I swear to God?—”
He kisses me.
Not gentle. Not tentative. He kisses me like he’s been holding himself back with both hands, and the chains just snapped. His fingers thread through my hair, tilting my head back, and I open for him with a sound I couldn’t stop if I tried.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“Home,” he says roughly. “Now.”
I don’t argue.
The drive back to the cabin takes ten minutes but feels like ten hours.
Tank’s hand rests on my thigh the entire way, his thumb tracing slow circles through my jeans. Every time I shift or breathe, he notices. His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.
I look out the window at the mountains, the endless sky, the pines flashing past, and something settles in my chest—something that feels terrifyingly like peace.
This could be my life, I think. This man. This place. This quiet.
For the first time, the thought doesn’t scare me.
We barely make it through the cabin door.
His mouth is on mine before I can kick off my shoes, his hands already under my shirt, rough yet reverent against my skin. I’m yanking at his flannel—that goddamn flannel that smells like pine, sawdust, and him—and then he’s shrugging it off and wrapping it around my shoulders instead.
“Looks better on you,” he mutters against my throat.
“Everything looks better off.”
His laugh is low and rough, stirring heat within me.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist as we stumble toward the bedroom, and I thinkyes, yes, this is everything; nothing can touch this?—
My phone rings.
I ignore it.
It rings again.
“Leave it,” Tank growls against my collarbone.
“Planning on it.”
But the phone keeps ringing, insistent and shrill, and something cold slides down my spine. I pull back, frowning, and dig the phone out of the flannel pocket.
I feel the blood drain from my face as I look at the screen. “It’s Albert.”
