"True. He probably had servants for that." I pull back enough to see his face, drinking in how relaxed he looks, how the constant tension around his eyes has softened. "Though I bet he didn't know how to build furniture either. You're definitely winning in the useful skills department."
"High praise from a romance novelist."
"Speaking of..." I bite my lip, trying not to smile. "This is totally going in my book."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"
"Well, not exactly this. But the general vibe. Rugged mountain man, cozy firelight, life-changing kisses..." I wave my hand dramatically. "It's literary gold."
"Life-changing, huh?" His smirk should be illegal.
"Don't let it go to your head." But I'm grinning too hard to sound stern. "I still think you need more practice."
"Practice." He shifts us so I'm practically in his lap, one large hand cradling my face. "That your professional opinion as an author?"
"Absolutely. For research purposes, of course."
"Of course." His thumb brushes my bottom lip, and my heart skips. "Any other literary insights I should know about?"
"Well..." I pretend to think about it. "The strong, silent type usually has a secret soft spot. Like, I don't know, naming their coffee maker or something equally adorable."
"I do not name appliances."
"No? So that ancient coffee maker in your kitchen isn't named Boris?"
His silence is telling.
"Oh my god." I sit up straighter. "It is! The big bad mountain man names his coffee maker!"
"Harper." My name comes out as a warning, but his eyes are laughing.
"No, no, this is perfect. Wait until Emma—"
He cuts me off with another kiss, deeper this time, until I forget what I was teasing him about. When he pulls back, I'm breathless and dizzy.
"That's cheating," I mumble against his lips.
"Strategic negotiation."
"Mm. Keep negotiating."
His laugh is soft and warm. "You're dangerous, you know that?"
"Says the man who probably has an axe collection."
"It's a perfectly reasonable collection."
"Of course it is." I trace the line of his jaw, marveling that I can touch him like this now. "Next you'll tell me you actually wear flannel to bed."
His eyes darken. "Harper..."
"Right. Sorry." I'm not sorry at all. "Too soon for bedroom wardrobe discussions?"
"Way too soon." But he's smiling as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You need sleep. Real sleep, in a real bed."
"Alone?" The word slips out before I can stop it.
His whole body tenses. "Yes."
