My throat goes dry. “Morning.”
His hand moves to my hip, slowly and deliberately. Possessively. Not squeezing. Just… there.
He’s fully awake now. I feel it in the way his body firms beneath me and how his attention locks on me like a sightline.
“Sleep okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He studies my face, as if checking for the crack that might mean I’m still hurt.
Then he says quietly, “You cold?”
I huff a small laugh. “I’m practically sweating. Your cabin is like a furnace.”
His mouth twitches.
I should move. Get up and make coffee.
Do something normal. Instead, I stay right where I am, my palm braced on his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my hand. Mine is not.
Tex’s gaze drops to my hand, then back to my face. “Jane.”
My name on his tongue does something wicked to my spine. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
The question is aboutlast night. About the bathroom and the misunderstanding and the ugly, raw truth I shoved at him while I was covered in manure and panic.
I stare at him, heat rising behind my ribs. “I’m okay. Are you?”
Tex’s jaw tightens. “I’m fine.”
I lift a brow. “That’s a lie.”
“I’m… tryin’ to be.”
“Why?”
His gaze holds mine unflinchingly. “Because you’re in my arms.”
My breath catches because I hear the unspoken part:And I don’t trust myself when you’re in my arms.
I shift slightly because my body has no interest in caution. His hand tightens on my hip like a boundary he’s holding in place because he thinks I still need it.
I gaze at him for a moment, then make a decision that feels like stepping off a cliff, hoping the fall is worth it.
Not out of recklessness. Not running from something.
For the first time in my life, I'm running toward something. Toward him.
I slide my fingers up his chest to his throat, feeling the prickle of stubble beneath my fingertips as my hand reaches his jaw.
Tex goes still, and his eyes flare. “Jane…”
My heart pounds in my ears. “I want...” I start, then pause, the words feeling too monumental, too vulnerable. Asking for what I want has always felt risky.
But Kitty’s voice echoes in my mind: If you change yourself and he “chooses” that version... who gets loved?
