The bedroom door clicked shut behind Korrak, leaving Winslet alone in his private sanctuary. The sudden absence of his commanding presence created a vacuum that seemed to pull the walls closer, making her acutely aware of every detail surrounding her. The quiet settled thick and intimate around her, broken only by the storm’s relentless assault against the reinforced windows.
His scent enveloped her immediately—cedar and pine with an underlying musk that spoke of wild places and mighty strength. It clung to every surface, woven into the very fabric of the space, and she found herself breathing deeper than necessary, drawing it into her lungs where it settled with disturbing familiarity.
This is dangerous territory,she warned herself, even as her pulse quickened.
The room was unmistakably his—solid oak furniture that could weather any storm, deep navy walls that reminded her of midnight skies, and a king-sized bed that dominated the space with its dark leather headboard. Everything spoke of permanence, of a man who built things to last.
The bed looked impossibly inviting after months of sleeping on a narrow bed in her Seattle apartment, always listening for footsteps in the hallway that might belong to Bracken or his associates.
The storm’s howling intensified outside, sealing her into this sanctuary that felt both foreign and strangely like home. She registered the intimacy of sleeping in his bed before rational thought could intervene—not fear, which had been her constant companion for months, but awareness. Sharp, electric awareness that made her skin tingle.
I just met him today,she reminded herself, her fingers trailing over the soft cotton of his shirt.This should feel wrong.
But it didn’t. It felt right in a way that unnerved her more than any blizzard or remote location ever could.
The wine hummed warm and loose in her veins as she began to undress, peeling away her sweater and jeans with movements that felt oddly ceremonial. When she slipped his shirt over her head, the fabric fell to mid-thigh, enveloping her in his scent with an intimacy that made her breath catch. The cotton was impossibly soft, worn from years of use, and she found herself pressing the collar to her nose before she realized what she was doing.
Get a grip, Winslet.
As she climbed into his bed, her thoughts drifted back to dinner—the careful way he’d watched her without pressing for answers she wasn’t ready to give, the subtle softening in his ice-blue eyes when she’d shown genuine sympathy for his losses. The restraint he’d shown when she’d mentioned her past relationships, how he’d simply accepted her pain without demanding details that would have sent her spiraling back into panic.
He actually listened.When was the last time a man did that?
The answer came swiftly. Never. Every man she’d known had seen her words as obstacles to overcome rather than truths to understand. Even Bracken, especially Bracken, had perfected the art of appearing to listen while planning his next move to control the conversation—and her.
But Korrak was different. After ten minutes in his presence tonight, she’d found herself doing something she hadn’t done in two years—letting her guard down. No vigilance. No calculating exits. No constant mental mapping of escape routes or potential weapons.
The absence of that familiar fear felt dangerous in itself, like walking without armor into battle.
It’s just exhaustion,she told herself, sliding between sheets that smelled like wild storms and felt like masculine warmth.Just the wine making me irrational.
But her body didn’t argue when she settled into the mattress that seemed designed to cradle her perfectly. The pillow still held the impression of his head, and she found herself turning into it before she could stop herself.
Lying there, wrapped in his scent and the security of his cabin, Winslet felt something she hadn’t allowed herself in two years—safety. Real safety. Not the fragile, temporary kind she’d survived on these past six months. This was different. Solid.
Her muscles began to unwind for the first time in months, and her thoughts, usually sharp and alert even in exhaustion, started to blur at the edges.
She acknowledged, distantly, that she’d never slept in a man’s bed without some kind of worry or unease before. With college boyfriends, there had always been the awkwardness of new intimacy. With Bracken, even in the beginning when she’d thought she loved him, there had been an underlying current of performance, of being what he wanted rather than simply being herself.
But here, in Korrak’s bed, there was only peace.
The realization brought a quiet ache to her chest, a longing for something she’d never known she was missing. Without nightmares or vigilance to keep her company, she fell into the deepest sleep she’d had in years.
Consciousness crept back to Winslet in stages the next morning. The first sensation was warmth—not the artificial heat of a radiator fighting against thin apartment walls, but something deeper, more encompassing. Like being wrapped in a cocoon that actually wanted to protect her.
Her body stretched instinctively before her mind caught up, her muscles uncoiling with a languid pleasure that felt foreign after months of sleeping rigid with vigilance. The sheets were still impossibly soft against her skin, and she registered with distant surprise that her shoulders weren’t knotted with tension, and her jaw wasn’t clenched from grinding her teeth through nightmares.
I didn’t wake up once.
The realization hit her with the force of a revelation. No startling awake at 3 AM to check the locks. No lying frozen, listening for footsteps. No phantom sounds of Bracken’s voice or text alerts from Bracken demanding her to come back to him.
The storm outside Korrak’s cabin had passed, leaving behind a crystalline silence that felt sacred. But threading through that quiet came something that made her stomach clench with sudden hunger—rich, savory scents that spoke of real breakfast, not the protein bars and instant coffee that had sustained her for months.
Brewed coffee. Bacon. Something that smelled like fresh bread.
Her body responded before thought could intervene, carrying her from the bed on bare feet that should have been cold against the hardwood but somehow weren’t. Korrak’s shirtbrushed against her knees as she moved, the cotton soft from countless washings and still saturated with his scent.
She padded toward the kitchen, following the intoxicating aromas like a woman hypnotized, her usual hyper-awareness dulled by sleep and comfort and the lingering warmth of the deepest rest she’d known.
